Dormez-Vous?
by Vanya Heart
Summary: Childhood AU; Arthur has a dark secret, which nosy Francis soon discovers. The Frenchman decides to take matters into his own hands, and save his friend...but at what price? Meanwhile, Francis has a secret - perhaps even darker than his friend's - that nobody knows. It's a secret he could get killed for...and perhaps a secret that he could get Arthur killed for.
1. Chapter 1

_**Dormez-vous?**_** Chapter 1**

Francis stood in the shadows, a wide smile plastered on his face, hands tracing the tree he concealed himself behind as he observed his neighbor Arthur Kirkland go about his work. Arthur was a strange child, there was no denying it, and each morning, just as the sun was rising, Francis would watch from the window as the child snuck off into the woods. It was just a week ago that he had begun following him, and quite often the younger boy caught him doing this, but this only made it more fun, and so Francis continued his game of stalking the young Englishman every day.

Arthur was giggling and talking to himself, the shadows dancing off his green cape. "Oh, Tinkerbell you're so funny!" He squeaked, dancing around with his mystical friends that only he could see and waving about a holly berry stick, pretending it was a wand. Suddenly he bowled over, as if someone had headbutted him in the stomach, and broke into a fit of laughter as he sat on the ground, catching his breath. "Silly Uni!" He chuckled, reaching out to stroke the thin air. Francis was watching this whole time with bright eyes, and his hand over his mouth to keep him from giggling aloud. What was wrong with this child? He wondered as Arthur continued to look around him and laugh.

All of a sudden Arthur grew quiet, and he looked over his left shoulder, face serene. "But...I can't do that well." He murmured, looking almost shy. A cool wind blew through the forest, ruffling the fallen orange and red leaves, and Francis felt his spine tingle. England was looking around now, lips pressed together in a hard line, listening. Finally, he smiled, and said, "Well, I suppose so, but only for you guys."The spy hidden behind the tree couldn't help but turn red at the thought of what the child's friends could have asked him to do. Francis had a naturally dirty mind, though he was young, and he was currently imagining the smaller boy na-

Arthur stood up and tilted back his head, interrupting Francis from his perverted thoughts. He made a sound in his throat, then peeped out from under his lids for a minute, before continuing in a nervous voice:

"Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping?

Brother John, Brother Jon.

Morning bells are ringing! Morning Bells are ringing!

Ding. Dang. Dong. Ding. Dang. Dong."

Francis almost died inside when the child started singing, and _that _song too. He felt a strange feeling inside, a good feeling, and he smirked. '_Too bad he's not singing it in the right language.' _He yearned, the soft, sweet voice of Arthur still ringing in his ears. He wanted to hear it in French.

As soon as he'd stopped, Arthur began laughing again. "Oh, I'm not that good, Captain Hook~." He squealed, rolling about in the grass with a giggle. "You're all so nice!" When he was done rolling he ended up laying on his back, staring at the sky. "I'm so glad I have friends like you, I-" He stopped in mid sentence, and that was when Francis knew he was in trouble. "Is that _perfume_?" Arthur said, wrinkling his nose.

'_Damn!' _Francis thought, wanting to slap himself on the head, but there was no escaping now. He watched Arthur patiently, deciding on what to do.

It turned out the boy was beginning to get rather scared (he was by himself in the dark woods, mind you) and he started to look around despairingly in search of an enemy. "Show yourself!" He snapped, whisking his holly stick through the air as little tears budded in his frightened, green eyes. "I'll fight you!" He challenged, and his face blossomed red.

Sighing, Francis emerged from the trees. He no longer bore a smile upon his face. "You sung the song wrong." He pointed out quietly.

"You! Frog!" Arthur spat furiously, waving the holly stick around threateningly. He no longer looked afraid, but rather angry that he had been afraid in front of this boy he was suppossed to hate. "I told you to leave me alone, Francis Bonnefoy! You _know _our parents don't like us hanging out!"

"I don't care." Francis stated bluntly, hands in his pockets. He was adorned in a flashy blue cape, a foppy shirt, bright red pants and tall boots and he stepped daintily when he walked.

"You stink." Said the other boy, whose dull earthen colored clothes were spattered in mud and had leaves stuck on them, with a dismissive twist of his wrist. "You smell like a woman. It's unnatural." He looked away.

Francis kept getting closer. "Ahonhon, mon ami, you're just embarrassed because you thought I was some kind of sexy demon girl when you smelt me here." He was now only inches away from Arthur, and his eyes were twinkling sharply, hands twitching. He didn't have time to react when a sudden blow from the holly stick caught him in the chest and sent him sprawling upon the ground, stunned, on his rump.

Arthur looked down at him smugly. "That'll teach ya, snail-slurping bastard."

His words stung, maybe worse than the rising welt on Francis' chest, and he leapt to his feet angrily. "It's not nice to hit people!" He cried out, rubbing his hands along the length of his front. "And stop repeating those things your parents say!" In a flash Francis' hand had darted forwards and retrieved the stick from Arthur's hands. The littler boy whimpered and raised his hands protectively in front of him, but Francis merely threw the stick away. "You're a gentleman, mon cher, not a jerk."

Arthur gave him a quick look of thanks for not striking back, but his eyes soon flickered away and buried themselves into the ground near his shoes. He remained standing like this, not meeting Francis' eyes, and breathing in little quick and angry breaths. Francis gave him a moment to calm down before he said, "You know, you weren't singing that song right." He finally murmured, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

The latter shrugged it off. "I was too!" He chirped half-heartedly. "That's how it goes!"

"Non." Francis ignored this boy that he considered a friend, flipping his shoulder-length blonde hair out of his face. "The real song is in French." Arthur didn't look too pleased to hear this, but he did give Francis a prodding look, and Francis took this to heart and sang out:

"Frere Jaques, frere Jaques,

Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?

Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!

Din. Dan. Don. Din. Dan. don."

Arthur was silent for a moment, staring at Francis' shoes as he contemplated his. He looked so tiny - short and stout, eyes glazed downwards underneath his bushy eyebrows, teeny hands balled into fists. Finally he looked up. "So...Frair-eh zhak-a?" He attempted to pronounce, and this caused France to go into a giggle fit. Arthur turned red. "I-if you're just gonna make fun of me-" He began.

"Non, non, non!" Francis interjected, patting Arthur's messy blonde hair with his hand. "Sit down, I'll teach you how to sing it right." And he took the smaller boy by the hand and led him over to a falled log in the clearing. They sat there for the rest of the day, practicing, until, finally, Arthur was able to say the words right, and remember them. There had been a sparkle in the child's eyes when he had been praised, and a glow about his very being that made Francis feel right... All the former negativity they bore towards each other had vanished within the heat of the moment, the excitement, the squalls of laughter, and the sweetness of victory.

When the sun was setting on their day, Arthur was the first to head back towards home. For once, he was smiling when he waved a hand behind his back at Francis. "See you around, Fra-Franc-Frog!" He stumbled over his words, fighting the red color that threatening his cheeks again, then turned and sprinted through out of the woods towards where his home stood, and out of sight.

Francis watched him go with a smile on his face, and once he was out of sight for good he started heading back towards his manor. Something had gone right in his life, for once, and it soothed his inner pains. In fact, he wished he could stay with Arthur forever, and cover up all that inner pain that was threatening to burst from his chest and make him weep blood on the floor. _'Inner pain,' _He thought to himself, closing his eyes as he trudged home,_ 'but for now, everything is perfect.' _and he smiled.

XXXX

Back at Francis' house, Auguste was wondering where his ever-annoying never-present bastard of a son was, and why he wasn't home like he should be. The man paced the room, bottle of whiskey opened and drained halfway in his hand, eyes surrounded with red rings of incoherence. His wife lay somewhere, but not in bed, and he didn't feel like searching for her. Maybe she wasn't even home, and besides, he didn't want _her _revolting, complaining body around right now. He wanted Francis. "_Merde, _Francis, you little brat, where are you?" He asked aloud, though his words were slurred together when he spoke. He took another swig from his bottle, and the darkness began to grow inside of him, slowly consuming all remnants of logic and mercy inside him. "Stupid brat." He snarled, downing the rest of his bottle before throwing it against the wall hard. He laughed when it broke, a deep, drunken laugh, and fell back onto the couch in waiting.

It was at that moment Francis walked in, and his smile was shattered.

At the same time, somewhere away, Arthur lay on his bed and wept for the scolding and slap to the face he had just received from singing in French, and slowly he began to hate Francis. It was all his fault.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dormez-vous? ****Chapter 2**

It was snowing outside - big white puffs of fluffy ice, drifting from the sky and onto the muddied ground below. The snowflakes seemed to twirl around themselves, each one revealing a new pattern, or shape. Arthur watched from his window with fascination in his glittering green eyes. His hands were plastered to the pane, his face pressed against the glass, and he was smiling widely. So engrossed was he in the pallid, chaste flakes, that he did not hear the sound of someone coming up behind him.

"Snow, eh?" A voice said, not far from breathing down his neck.

Arthur jumped, whirling around with a wild look in his eyes, but it was only Dylan. His racing heart calmed in his chest, and he took a deep breath. "Y-yeah." He nodded, choosing to focus his eyes on his older's brother's shoes instead of his face. There was always a feeling of foreboding when Arthur was around his siblings, a dreadful spider-like sensation in his stomach that made him grimace with fear; he could not look them in the eyes.

There was a soft snort of amusement from above, and Dylan's hand came down upon his shoulder. "Would you like some breakfast?" He asked, and Arthur glimpsed his smile from the corner of his eye. He kept asking himself if it was genuine. "I made tea." His older brother prodded, smiling in a friendly way. Arthur smiled back, just the smallest bit.

Finally, he responded, mumbling, "Well...I guess." and with that he allowed Dylan to take his small hand in his and lead him into the kitchen.

As Dylan went about fixing them some tea, Arthur eyed him the whole time. Dylan, out of all of Arthur's three siblings, looked the most like him. They were both blonde, and both bore the same bushy eyebrows. The only thing that kept them from looking identical (aside from their size, that is) was the fact that Arthur's eyes were green, like Allister and Eily's, while Dylan's eyes were a sharp shade of blue. Arthur figured Dylan was probably his most favorite sibling, most of the time; they were the closest in age, and Dylan was generally kind to him (when Allister wasn't around), although they fought sometimes, and he taunted Arthur every once in a while.

_'Yeah...' _Arthur thought to himself. He was resting his head on his arm, elbow propped up on the table, and smiling just a little. _'Dylan's okay...Dylan loves me.' _

A soft clinking sound stirred the boy from his daydream-thoughts, and he looked up to see a cup of tea set before him. It was a small white cup decorated with tiny pink flowers, and being made of glass, it had heated up a lot on the outside as well as in. Arthur took it in his hands, savoring the rich scent that wafted from the depths of its heat, and just barely feeling the way the hot glass burned his fingers. He was lifting it to his quaking lips, scared of taking a sip for fear of having his tongue scorched, yet scared if he didn't drink it soon the heat would leave him forever.

"Ahem." Dylan coughed. He wasn't drinking his own tea, instead he was twirling his index finger across the top of the murky liquid, waiting for it to cool. Arthur looked at him, wondering what he wanted. "Well?" Dylan asked probingly, raising one thick eyebrow at his younger brother. Seeing the latter didn't understand, he finally let out a long sigh and said, "Thank you, Dylan." in a rather high-pitched tone that he had chosen to represent his younger brother.

Flustering with embarrassment, Arthur quickly replied, "Thank you, Dylan." He didn't look up when he said so, instead he stared down into his teacup, as if somehow he could hide his blushing inside the hot steam rising from it.

"So antisocial." Dylan dismissed with a sigh, raising his still-hot tea to his mouth and taking a short sip before hissing with annoyance and setting it down, licking his burned lip. "You really need a friend or something."

XXXX

Francis hadn't seen Arthur for weeks. He didn't know what had happened, but he figured the younger boy was avoiding him- why he couldn't figure out; they seemed to be getting along so well the last time they saw each other - and no matter how early he got up in the morning, Francis never saw the Englishman stealing off into the woods. _'Maybe he's taking a different route.' _Francis pondered, lying on his bed and staring up at the cracked ceiling. _'Or maybe he has work.' _He thought, feeling a bit selfish that everything he needed was always provided, whereas everyone in Arthur's family had to work.

After a bit of thinking back and forth at all the possibilities, Francis decided he would go and visit the boy. He pushed aside the whispering voice in his head that warned, _'You're going to get into trouble. He's going to get in trouble too.' _and slowly got out of bed.

At first it was hard for him to stand. His legs were a bit shaky, and sore up and down, and there was a bit of a stabbing pain in his lower stomach, but he bit his lip and ignored it. He was only too used to the sensation by now. _'What if Arthur's sick?' _He asked himself, gaining strength from the thought. He was going to see the boy if it killed him.

Slowly, Francis got dressed, ignoring the purple finger marks upon his skin. He made sure he looked especially nice; he also made sure to wear all long sleeves. Once he had clad himself in blue and red tunic and a long sleeved white undershirt, Francis picked up a rubber band. He contemplated it for a moment - would it ruin his hair? - but in the end he decided he _wanted _to wear it, and tied his hair up neatly. This done, he gave himself one more ponderous look in the mirror before nodding his head in acceptance. This would do. Now, it was time to find Arthur.

Too soon, Arthur's peace was broken. It seemed like it had been only a few minutes, sitting across from his brother and sipping his tea merrily; he was actually smiling, happy at their time together. Unfortunately, the irony of life always seemed to shatter his good moments, sending him back into his shell of insecurity just as he had begun to get comfortable with the world.

The door slammed open and with it came the wafting smell of alcohol. Arthur jumped at the sound, as well as the smell, and the teacup fell from his hands, clattering upon the table and spilling its remaining liquid across the oak surface. Normally he would have cursed up a storm at this, but the scent of rum reminded him that that probably wasn't a very good idea, and instead he just let out a whimpering, "_No_."

A loud crack echoed throughout the house as something, or rather someone, hit the floor. "Blah!" A thunderous voice howled. "Where's the bloody doornob?" Arthur didn't need to see; he could practically visualize his father scrabbling around on the floor in the open doorway, reaching blindly upwards in search of the doornob. "Hell!"

Dylan didn't say a word, he just stood, abandoning the tea, and made a motion ushering his little brother to leave the room. Arthur stood obidiently and did just that, sneaking outside through the side door of the house. He stopped outside, peering through the screen to see.

Dylan walked around the corner and out of sight. "You alright, pop?" His voice asked, surprisingly level.

Arthur shuddered when his father spoke. "Do I look fucking alright?" The man snarled vehemently, making his youngest son cringe. He had to use the mother-of-all-cuss-words, he just had to. Arthur couldn't see what was happening next, but he imagined Dylan kneeling down, trying to help his dad to his feet. There was a loud sound after this, and it was obvious that someone had stuck a blow, and obvious _who _had done it.

Dylan's voice came in a low sob when he spoke again. "Dad, let me help you." He whined, almost pleading. "You need to go lie down."

Outside, Arthur began to shake. "I don't need any of your fucking help!" His father was screaming. "I can bloody well help myself! Or have you forgotten who's the _man _of this household?"

"N-no, sir."

He couldn't take it anymore. Breaking into tears, Arthur spun around and fled. His green cape flowed out behind him, flapping as he ran, and making him feel all the more slower. He wouldn't take it off though. He couldn't take it off.

He didn't know where to go. He had been forbidden to venture into the forest anymore without being supervised, ever since his mum had heard him singing _Brother John_...only it was not _Brother John, _it was _Frere Jaques, _the way the French boy had taught him to sing it, and that was bad. Mum lost everything because of the French. She was the way she was now because of them - "They're greedy, selfish human beings that will cowardly deceive and murder for their own benefit - so they can dress like flamboyant fops and fat kings." - she said things like that a lot. Arthur didn't try to argue.

Aftera bit of thought, Arthur decided to head back home. There was no where he could go - no where he could think to go - and it was no use hiding from his father, who didn't know he had been home anyways. It would be safer to just go home, and loiter about in their small vegetable garden, or the little wheat field-

"Arthur! Hey, Arthur! Arthur Kirkland, mon ami!" An all to familiar voice called.

_'No!' _Arthur thought dreadfully. _'Not him, of all people! Today, of all days!' _As hurriedly as he could, the Englishman scrubbed the tears from his eyes. _'Don't let the bastard see you cry.' _He told himself bitterly. He knew he shouldn't be crying anyways, as it wasn't boyish to do so. He hadn't looked up to see Francis coming, so he went completely into shock whenever the other boy suddenly threw his arms about him and hugged him. "W-what are you doing you bloody idiot!" Arthur squeaked in anguish, feeling his throat tighten. It seems like always, when you are trying not to cry, if someone hugs you, it gets all the more harder; resisting that familiar sensation of an affectionate touch.

Ignoring Arthur's question, Francis buried his nose in the other boys shoulder. He sighed there, his lips brushing against Arthur's neck and sending fluttering wisps of air onto the skin. "Where have you been?" He asked, and if Arthur didn't know any better, he'd think the Frenchman sounded..._sad_.

Struggling in his grip, Arthur snapped, "None of your business, frog! I can't be around you!" Something beyond anger flashed within his green eyes then - some deeper, stronger emotion - and Arthur had to shove Francis off of him to avoid said emotion escaping via his tear-ducts. Francis staggered backwards, catching his balance at the last moment before he fell, and Arthur snapped. "Don't ever touch me again, gitface!"

For a second Francis' eyes were narrowed and it looked as if he may push back, but then his sharp blue eyes softened, and slowly he smiled, tilting his head to one side. "Arthur," He said gently, folding his hands politely in front of him, "why're you crying?"

_'Shit.' _Arthur had thought he had kept his tears in! Angry and embarassed, he reached to his face, and sure enough he felt the wetness there. He quickly wiped it away. "Maybe it's because I had to see your face." He said bitterly, folding his arms over his chest with a snort. He inhaled a few quick, deep breaths, forcing himself into composure. "What do you want, anyways?" He asked in a low growl.

"Ah..." The Frenchman stared at his feet. Arthur squinted at him demandingly - was he blushing? - and waited for his answer. Francis passed the time kicking the tip of his shoes into the dirt and sending dust fluttering up towards Arthur in little brown clouds. Finally, he answered, "You hadn't been going into the forest-"

"You stalker! I knew you'd been following me, you know? I'm not stupid! Git! You're a git! You think I'd fall for you're deception?" Suddenly Arthur was completely flustered. The fury that was itching to escape his small body was not ebbing out _because _of Francis, it was directed towards his home issues, his father, and everything else wrong, but of course he couldn't yell at an _adult. _"What do want with me anyways? Want to catch me and sell me to some sick pervert? Oh, or maybe you'd rather do away with me yourself-"

"_SHUT UP!" _Francis screamed, so unexpectedly and abruptly that Arthur did just that. He was breathing heavily now, all the insults and sharp words weighing upon him. "I-if..." He began, still shaken. "Y-you didn't let me finish." He said, almost in a whisper.

The tears were back in Arthur's eyes. He could feel them this time, streaking down his face in cold, salty streams. Arthur made no move to stop them this time; there was a glistening dampness to Francis' eyes as well that he could see. "W-what then?" He asked, and though he tried not to, he ended up sounding harsh all the same.

Francis took a step forwards - uncertain - and then he was just _there_, right up close to Arthur. Their foreheads were touching, and he was _smiling_, and his fingers were on Arthur's face as he wiped the tears away _himself_. His touch was strangely...warm, and Arthur made no move to push him away. It felt...easier to be like _this_, to be comforted, than it did to stand alone with his shoulders shaking, and his eyes streaming. Francis' breath kissed his forehead when he spoke, "For an Englishman, you're not very smart." He said, and then, "I came to see you because I was _worried _about you, and I _missed _seeing you, because I _care _about you."

Heat filled Arthur from his head to his toes. He didn't understand, but it wasn't a _bad _feeling. For some reason he couldn't meet the older boy's eyes, and it was harder even, to respond. He didn't _want _to respond. He just wanted to remain how he was now, so close to someone... When was the last time someone had held him? "I...I..." He stammered, not finding words. He didn't know what to say, so he just pulled himself closer, and let himself be _there_, head lying against Francis' chest, feeling his heartbeat pulsing in his cheek. "Okay." He finally said, and that was it. "Okay."

"It's okay, mon cher." Francis murmured in his ear. His fingers were suddenly tangled into Arthur's hair, and they ran through it to the bottom, then returned to the top to start all over. He kept repeating the process, and Arthur didn't stop him. His brothers never did this. His sister didn't either. Nor did his mom, or dad, or anyone... He was about to say something, about to look up and say something along the lines of 'I understand', 'I feel the same', or 'Let's be friends now', but the sudden but abrupt pause of Francis' hand made him stop. The boy's fingers grew still against the back of his head, and his body rigid.

"What the hell is going on here?" An all-to-familiar voice demanded furiously.

A chill ran through Arthur's body. _'No...' _He bit into his lower lip to keep himself from trembling. "A-Allister..." He rasped quietly, fear shooting up his spine. "I-I-I-"

"Get your wretched hands off him, you disgusting frog." Arthur heard his big brother snarl, and Francis' hands fell away. He detached himself from the Englishman almost mechanically and took a single step back from him, eyes downcast and silent. Slowly, Arthur himself turned around, head held high, to face his least favorable sibling. Allister was glaring upon them both, with green eyes like emerald fire, straight out of some green hell, and a sour look on his face. "Get over here." He spat.

Arthur hesitated, casting Francis a glance, but the boy only returned him a look of confusion and fear. It took a moment for Arthur to realize the other boy had never seen his brother, and so, to clarify this, he made himself look as calmed and brave as he possibly could. He walked _over _to Allister, stood beside him, and stared ahead blankly. "Yes, brother." He murmured, and turning his head slightly he waved his hand. "Goodbye." He said to Francis emotionlessly; the latter only stared at him.

In no time Allister's hand had grabbed Arthur around the arm, not gently, forcing the boy to walk at a strange and unbalanced angle as he tugged him along the road. Arthur felt Francis' blue eyes watching him as he was dragged in the direction of his home, but he remained silent. "When we get home," Allister growled. "you're so dead."


	3. Chapter 3

**Dormez-vous? ****Chapter 3**

"I can't believe you would be so selfish!" Allister was scolding as he dragged his little brother into the back yard. "Do you know what your selfishness cost Dylan?" He snapped. "I came home to find him with a black eye and bloodied lip - that's not all either -, and you _ran _away! You _left _him alone with father!" His green eyes searched the garden for a moment, wavered, then spotted a thick-but-not-too-thick looking stick nestled next to a rock. He marched over to it, one hand still clamped onto Arthur's arm, and picked up the stick in his other, looking it over. After giving an approving nod of his head, he began to drag his little brother towards the barn.

Arthur dug his heels into the dirt, jerking backwards with fear in his eyes. "N-no! No, please!" He whimpered, "W-wait! Dylan told me to leave! He told me to!" He squeaked as he thrashed about in Allister's grip. The only thing going through his mind at the moment was fear for himself, and the desire to escape. He kicked around wildly, pushing against Allister like a wild animal in attempt to get away. "He told me to leave!" He yelled again. "Ask him!"

He was silenced when his brother took the stick to his arm. "Be quiet!" He demanded. "I've told you time and time again _not _to leave _anyone _in the house alone with pa. I've told _all _of you." His eyes were narrowed now, and the sharp sunlight glinted off his red hair, making him look quite chilling and demonic from where Arthur stood. "And while you were out...indulging in that _French faggot_, Dylan was home receiving a beating!"

Arthur didn't reply. He merely stared at the floor sourly. He didn't know what a 'faggot' was anyways, so why his brother chose the word was beyond him. Sniffling, he gave Allister a sullen look. "I'm sorry..." He said in a low voice. His green eyes, which were certainly a shade different than his brothers, were thick with sorrow.

Allister failed to see that sorrow. "An eye for an eye, Arthur." He said darkly, and with one forceful tug, brought his brother to the doorway of the barn. It was devoid of animals, dark and desolate inside, and Allister shoved Arthur inside unceremoniously. Arthur fell down, but he made no move to run now - it was all over - and he stared up at his older brother with a sickened expression. Allister explained his logic coolly, "You caused your brother bodily harm by being the _coward_ you are." He took a step forwards. "And in return, I'm going to beat you until this stick breaks."

A small noise escaped Arthur's throat. Then, he began to cry.

XXXX

Francis stood alone on the beaten dirt road, staring down the dusty brown path towards where Arthur had dissapeared. _'Big brother...' _He thought, tapping his fingers against the side of his leg pensively as he let his mind wander. It kept drifting back to young Arthur's teary eyes, his face pressed against Francis' chest, his small fingers digging into the fabric of Francis' cloak...

Sighing, Francis forced himself to turn away from the road. It was no use staring after the little boy - he wasn't going to come back anyways - and his big brother had seemed pretty mad when he had picked him up. Maybe he would get Arthur grounded from coming outside for a week. Francis just hoped he wasn't restricted from any leisure for _too _long. He really liked the boy.

As he walked back towards his house, his thoughts drifted back to the Englishman's big brother. The very sight of the boy, who if he remembered correctly was named Allister, brought Francis to a standstill. He hadn't been doing anything _wrong_! Not at all. He was just comforting a neglected child, not hurting him, not _touching _where it was not permitted, and yet still that boy had given him a look of disgust. His lips had curled as if he had just smelled something revolting, and his nostrils flared out. Allister didn't even say the word, but Francis could tell what he was thinking: _'Faggot. Little faggot.' _Francis knew what the word meant, too often had he been called that, and he learned to hate the word dearly.

Someone had arranged a pile of rocks into a smiling face in the dirt. Francis spotted this and his stomach boiled with rage. "What are you looking at, little _faggot?" _He asked in a snarl. "You want a piece of me, _faggot_?" Before he knew what he was doing, Francis was stomping on the rocks, and kicking them all around. He wanted to obliterate them, and destroy the childish piece of artwork they became together. "Faggot...faggot...faggot..." He growled between kicks, not stopping until he had scattered every single rock in opposing directions. "Ha, take that you-"

"Hey!" Someone said, shrilly. "What are you doing? That was _mine_!"

It felt as if someone had sent a lightning bolt through Francis' back and into his heart. Slowly, he turned around, eyes wide. "W-what?" He stammered incoherently, finding himself face-to-face with a young girl. She had short dirty blonde hair and cerulean eyes, and was dressed much like a young peasant boy would dress.

"Hey! I asked a question, you brat!" She snapped, grabbing him by the collar and jerking his face up to hers'. "I ought to beat you for that - ruining someone's hard work without their permission! Mon Dieu! It's shameful!" She proceeded to give him a thorough shaking before she tossed him into the dirt. It was a case when sex did not determine strength, and this girl was _strong_.

Blinking, Francis cast her a cloudy-eyed look. She was about his age, maybe a little older. He couldn't stop staring at her, though, and wondering that, if his mother were still alive, if she would look like her. It would be wonderful if she did; strong, beautiful, and not afraid of anything...

She kicked him in the face. "What're you _staring _at, boy? Haven't you ever seen a girl before?" She said snappishly, something it seemed she was good at. Her eyes glinted with suspicion, and her leg seemed to move a bit, as if itching to land another kick.

"N-Non!" Francis whined hurriedly, wanting to avoid another kick. She packed force into her blows, and she had barely even _tried_! Already, Francis felt blood run down from his nose. "I-I...you just reminded me of someone. That's all." He murmured, then looked around him cautiously, eying her. Finally, he lowered his eyes. "Sorry for breaking apart your stones. May I get up?"

The girl smiled, and instead of answering his question responded with, "I am Jeanne." Her eyes twinkled when she said so, just like two bright stars, and she crouched down so she could look Francis straight in the face. "So, boy, what had you so upset?" As she spoke, she fished a handkerchief out of her shirt pocket, proceeding to use it to mop the blood from Francis' face.

Not making a single noise of protest, Francis answered, "I was just...confused and angry." He stared at her thin, calloused fingers and watched them pull away from his face. She put her handkerchief away and looked at him probingly, wanting more. After a moment of biting his lower lip and staring distantly at her face, Francis continued, "Arthur Kirkland...do you know him?"

Jeanne nodded. "Sure do. I er, borrow vegetables from his family's garden every so often." She grinned at this, probably remembering some time she had narrowly escaped being shot at the hands of one of them. Thieves, no matter the gender or age, were never dealt with gently.

Unintentionally, Francis smiled, but the smile soon melted away as he continued to speak. "You see...I'm sort of...acquainted with him, and we bumped into each other... He looked upset today. We were only talking...then his big brother came along, gave me a look, and made him go home..." Before he finished, Francis piped, "Also, my name, it's Francis."

"Well, Francis..." She clicked her tongue against her teeth, running a hand through her dirty blonde hair in thought. She didn't smile now. When her eyes finally met Francis' again, they were serious. "Well, there's nothing we can do, really. Everyone knows what happens to the Kirkland children when they misbehave," Jeanne sighed sadly, shaking her head. "It's probably better that Allister's doing it, and not the father."

Francis stiffened. _He _didn't know what happened to the Kirkland children when they misbehaved. _'But...how did Arthur __**misbehave**__?' _Gritting his teeth, he made himself ask, "_What _happens to them? What is going to be done to Arthur?" Worry sparkled in his blue eyes, which were narrowed into slits of suspicious thoughts; his fists were clenched in fury at those thoughts.

Jeanne smiled sadly, as if she pitied his lack of social knowledge. She sighed, as she had before, only this time it was longer and deeper, empathetic even. "Look, I've been there before when it happened to Arthur. His brother took him out to the barn and licked him-"

"Licked?" Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Beat." Jeanne corrected with a roll of her eyes. "You really _are _ignorant." Snorting, she went on, "Anyways, Allister gave Arthur quite a beating with a leather strap, and I could hear the boy screaming and crying..._begging _him to stop, but of course Al would hear none of it. He stopped when _he _was ready to stop, and by then the boys screams had faded into muffled sobs of anguish. When Al finally left, he left Arthur in the barn. Arthur probably stayed in that barn for two whole days before he finally crawled out on the third morning, all shaking and stuff." Jeanne shuddered at the memory. "It was quite disturbing for a lady to see, you know-"

Francis cut her off. "We have to go save him!" He announced in a burst of avid emotion, which left even himself surprised. He gave Jeanne a glance, hope in his eyes.

For a moment he thought she would argue, or simply deny his offer, for she just stared at him, blinking. After a bit, she smirked - deviously, with her teeth showing snowy white - and nodded. "Okay." After that, her hand flashed to her side, and Jeanne withdrew a wooden sword. "Lead the way, my lord!" She yowled playfully, yet powerfully so.

Keeping his face stern, as he was still upset over Arthur, Francis pointed his finger down the road. "To Arthur Kirkland!" He screeched, and it was not a play-cry like Jeanne's was, but a _battlecry_, and as he marched down the well-beaten dirt road with his new friend, he felt as if he had a whole army at his back, and the strength of it inside him.

XXXX

Once Allister's stick had broken, and Arthur's pain-filled screams had been reduced into quiet whimpers, the punishment ceased. Arthur lay on the cold ground, his face wet against some kind of mold there, his skin burning with heat, and sticky with blood. He had no energy left to cry, only to generate little pain-filled desperate gasps, and Allister respectfully left him be. He did however, before departing, lean down to ruffle his younger brother's hair and murmur something - though Arthur felt so much hatred towards him at the moment he heard not a word of it - and then he sighed, and left.

The world was timeless once Arthur was alone. He didn't know how long he lay upon the damp earth of the barn, nor how long he stared out into the darkness (the doors were shut) but he did not care. After a while, he sat up, his legs aching when he moved. He wondered what time it was, trying not to think about Allister. For some reason, just _thinking _of the boy would bring tears to his eyes. Standing, Arthur found himself stumbling towards the door. Something hot ran down his leg. That was enough. Tears burst from his eyes once more; _'Why, brother, do you hate me so?' _He questioned despairingly, leaning against the barn door so he wouldn't fall over.

As he leaned against the door, he had time to think, and one important item that kept drifting back to his mind was: _'What do I do now?' _He was faced with the options of either going back inside and facing his brother, and the whole family, in the gruesome state he was in, or... He straightened up. _'I could always do like last time: run away.' _He did that a lot, actually. He didn't know if his family just figured he remained in the barn "lying about in a fit of self-pity" as Eily put it, or if they actually knew he ran away. Lately, he had been going out to old Miss Elizabeth's house after beatings - she was a lovely middle-aged woman who lived in a cottage in the forest, and she would always care for him without question - but the problem was, she had left to visit her relatives...she was not home.

Sighing to himself, Arthur slowly eased the barn door open. Once it hung agape - though it was just a crack - yellow light poured in, forcing his pupils to adjust to the brightness, stinging, and allowing him to see the damage done to him by his brother's stick. He grimaced at that - he did not want to see - and then, slowly, he staggered outside.

Eily was looking at him through the window, and that stung him. She didn't have pity in her eyes, rather, a scolding look; _'Did I deserve this?' _He asked himself with a frown, tearing himself away from her piercing green gaze. It didn't matter, whether he was looking directly at her or not, he _saw _her, in his mind; she stood with her hands on her hips and the freckled skin around her nose scrunched up, disapproving, and scorning at him. "Just...leave me alone..." He choked out, aloud. It felt good just to hear his own voice, so he kept talking to himself. "I don't understand why you all despise me so. I _try _to please you." Sniffling, he realized tears were on his face again, and furiously he wiped them away.

As he held back those tears, steadily, rage began to build up inside him. He bit his tongue towards this rage. _'I'm not going to run away this time.' _Was the next thought that came to his mind. _'I'll show those invusels...' _Distantly, he turned and made his way back towards the house, his cloak, now sullied and torn, trailed limply behind him. When he came to the door, he sighted Eily looking at him still. He gave her a long, hard stare back, and held it, until she finally looked away. Only then did Arthur open the door and enter the house.

XXXX

When they arrived at Arthur's house, everything was quiet. It smelled slightly like someone inside the house was cooking, but other than that there were no signs of life.

"Where is he, Jeanne?" Francis asked his newly-made friend, as if she had the answer.

Jeanne returned him a look that showed she thought his question was very stupid; he could tell this because of the way she twisted up her eyebrow and the corner of her mouth. Then she sighed, and huffed, "Maybe he went inside. I don't know." The epicness of the adventure seemed to have faded from her feelings, and she no longer seemed interested in their 'rescue mission', unlike Francis, who took the matter quite seriously. "Maybe he didn't even get into trouble." She suggested.

This was not an acceptable answer to the latter. "Non," He hissed. "I _saw _the look on that..._Allister's _face." Clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, Francis stomped over to the Kirkland family's barn. The left door was already open a bit, and when he fully opened both sides he discovered that there was no one inside. Jeane approached him at his side, gave a swift glance around, and then stuck her tongue out at him. It was a total I-told-you-so gesture. Francis completely contradicted this gesture when he bent to retreive a broken stick, which had little bits of red stained on its side. He _almost _stuck his tongue out back at her, but he wasn't feeling up to it.

"Well, what're we going to do then?" Jeanne asked as they journeyed outside again. They were now circling the front of the house, at a safe distance, walking in a big loop along the path leading up to it. "It's obvious he's inside," Jeanne said plaintive. "and if you think I'm going to follow a rat like you - that I just met - into the _Kirkland's _place, you got another think coming." She crossed her arms at this, snorting through her noise to emphasize her point.

Francis didn't seem to get it though, for he trotted right away from her and up to the house. Once he seemed to not need her, Jeanne grew red in the face,"Hey!" She called out. "Wait!" and in seconds she was by his side again. Angry, she stuck out her lip and pouted, her arms remaining crossed. She then proceeded to become completely silent, giving her companion the worst evil eye a child could give.

Smiling, Francis rapped on the door. He heard footsteps inside, and the thought of young Arthur's family made his smile melt back into it's previous straight line. He stood, patiently, watching the window as he did so. Something moved within the house, and he thought perhaps it was a lady's dress ruffling as she moved, but he did not have time to contemplate it, for the door opened wide in his face.

He didn't expect Arthur himself to open the door.

"Arthur!" He exclaimed, a smile coming to his face. It was foolish of him to smile, and he knew it, but it was too late not to smile, and too _hard _not to smile; he didn't stop himself. He saw Arthur's startled expression, and forced himself not to stare for too long at the obvious blood stains on the boy's legs, then he was coming forwards to hug him-

"Don't _touch _me, _you_." Arthur hissed. His voice was so full of venom that Francis was stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head a bit, confused, and wondering how what started out as a rescue mission had turned into _this_. Arthur was glaring him down now, his eyes narrowed green slits of hatred, and hands balled into fists at his sides. His face was red, but it wasn't from anything good - it was the product of fury, and shame.

Francis felt Jeanne stiffen at his side, and he lay a hand on her shoulder, a gesture meaning 'don't say a word'. He then saw fit to get upon one knee on Arthur's doorstep, bow his head, and announce, "I am truly sorry that you got a...beating, Arthur." For some reason he had to force the word _beating _out of his lips; it was such an ugly word to say. He kept his head bowed after he said this, and after a few seconds of silence asked, "Forgive me, mon ami?"

No one expected Arthur to lash out. In fact, Arthur himself seemed surprised that he had done it, but he had. Francis found himself one moment with his head bowed and asking forgiveness, the next moment sprawled upon his back with a dirty shoe-print on his face and a throbbing chin. This, for some reason, made Jeanne livid.

She rushed forwards, her eyes like fire, her lips peeled back in a snarl. "You little brat! How _could you?_" She bleated, raising her fist to Arthur, who shrank away in response.

The French boy on the ground, though still in a daze, had time enough to stick his foot out and tap the back of Jeanne's ankle with it before she struck. His pride stung, and his face as well, but he wished Arthur Kirkland no bodily harm. "Non," He murmured to her, his teeth digging into his lower lip. "Non."

An awful silence swept over them all the next moment, and Francis stayed on the ground, stilled from his shock and disappointment; no one knew what to do. It seemed as if they would have stood there for hours, just staring at each others faces and wondering _why _did it have to go this way - they had had such brilliantly good intentions! - but the horrific silence was broken by a greater horror. Allister.

It was quite possible that he had been watching them from the window the whole time - his demeanor was not of anger, or curiosity when he came up behind Arthur. In fact, he seemed quite calm, almost emotionless, with a look of disinterest upon his face. Silently, he kneeled, put his hands about Arthur's little waist, and hoisted him into the air.

Arthur looked like he was about to cry, and Francis leapt to his feet in defiance. Jeanne just stood there, mouth open, eyes searching the monster she had seen so many times when she had invaded the Kirkland's garden. She never said a word. Arthur and Francis were the two who spoke, simultaneously, with Francis screeching "don't you dare hurt him" and Arthur crying "I'm sorry, I'll behave".

Allister seemed to ignore them, and sighing he toyed with a piece of blonde hair that stuck out from his little brother's head in a tuft. Then he looked at Francis. "It's getting late." He said in a tone lacking kindness; it made Francis grit his teeth. "You children should head on home." He continued. Arthur was sobbing now, and Allister blatantly ignored the child, though he continued to fumble with his hair.

"Now, you don't-" Francis was beginning, rage burning inside him like a billions hells, all waiting to escape, but he stopped mid-sentence, sucking in a breath.

With distant consideration, Allister lowered young Arthur from his arms, setting him upon the porch step. "Arthur," He said, sharply, yet not icily as he had before. "it's time for your bath. Go take one, then head off to bed." Arthur nodded his head, scrubbing tears from his eyes, and darted into the house.

Once the young Englishman was gone, Allister turned his gaze towards Francis. For the teeniest millisecond, green met blue eyes, and something strange and electric flowed between the two - some dark, forbidden thing, something secret - but then it was gone and Francis couldn't decipher what he _possibly _could have in common with that wench. Allister's lips twitched the slightest bit after the echange, slowly spreading into a sneer of genuine misery and wickedness, and then he growled, "You're children. You would _never _understand." but, before either Francis or Jeanne could protest he added, "Except for maybe _him._" and his finger rose to point condemingly at Francis' chest. "He understands, maybe not fully yet, but he does."

"I'm _nothing _like you." Francis snarled in response, looking ready to punch the older boy in the gut.

"Never said you were," Allister responded coolly, a chuckle rocking his shoulders, and he stepped inside the house, "only that you understood." and then he closed the door, leaving the children in a cauldron of strange feelings.


	4. Chapter 4

**Dormez-vous? ****Chapter 4**

"So this is where you live?" Jeanne finally broke the silence. They were standing outside of Francis' house, and she, with her neck craned back, was admiring it. It was a large house: a wide two-story, with an attic. The visible front of it was painted a lovely eggshell white, and there were many rectangular windows about it. The lower window sills had pots of red roses sticking out of them. There were seven steps leading up to the porch, and next to the door a grand oak rocking chair was nestled. "A rich boy, eh?" Jeanne chuckled, trying to get something, anything, out of her silent companion. Francis hadn't spoken since they left the Kirkland house.

He didn't speak now. He only nodded dumbly, then reached up towards his hair. His fingers embedded themselves beneath the elasticity of his rubber band and he yanked it out forcefully, causing his golden locks to spill out around his face like a lion's mane. Then, he chucked the band onto the ground. Jeanne gave him a stare full of both annoyance and concern, and he looked back at her - emotionlessly - and then he looked towards his house.

Not knowing what to say, Jeanne ended up muttering, "Well, see you later, I guess." Her shoe kicked at the earth for a second, and she studied it listlessly. Finally, she looked up. "Goodbye, Francis." She said. No response. "_Goodbye, _Francis." She repeated, a bit annoyed that he was ignoring her. His blue eyes were staring ahead - distant and unfeeling - and completely unfocused on her. Well, that was fine then, Jeanne knew how to make boys notice her! She leaned forwards, brought her face right up to the side of the boy's own. "Goodbye, Francis." She crooned, almost a purr, and brought her soft, chapped lips to his cheek.

She pulled away with a grin of triumph, eyes twinkling mischievously as she waited for the boy to turn red from head to toe and squeal in protest. _Any moment now he will... _She thought, continuing to beam at him. No reaction. it was as if she didn't even exist! Francis just stared at the ground with a sorrowful look in his eyes. After a while he sighed, looking up at her.

Ironically, it was Jeanne who turned red from head to toe and began to squeal, "Now look here you little brat! You have no reason to be moping - or, or _ignoring me _for that matter! I followed you to the Kirkland's house, I was ready for battle," She paused to withdraw her wooden sword from her side, pointing it into the air heroically. "and Arthur _is fine!" _She continued. "He didn't even _want _us there, he - "

" - was afraid." Francis cut her off, speaking at last. His eyes were a bit shiny on the insides, wet with emotion, though he wasn't in tears, and he reached up to wipe his nose every now and then. "I'm sorry, Jeanne." He said almost in a whisper, and placed a hand over her's upon the hilt of her sword. A forced smile played upon his lips. "I didn't mean to ignore you...I'll...I'll kiss you myself, if you want!" Francis leaned forwards, puckering his lips.

"_EW! NO!" _Jeanne squealed, laughing, and she smacked him on the head with her wooden sword. Although she was playing, it still stung a little, and Francis quickly retreated. He grinned at her and she gave him a false frown back. "I only _smooched _you to wake you up, idiot." She muttered.

Francis tilted his head to the side deviously. "Ah, are you sure it wasn't because you were dazzled by my good looks? Ahonhonhon..." He got another whack from her sword for that one.

"Ha! No way!" She yowled loudly, stamping her foot onto the ground. Quickly, she concealed her wooden blade. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Francis?" She asked, though, it was really more of a statement, and then she turned to dash away, her dirty blonde hair bouncing behind her as she ran. Francis called something back for an answer - she was sure it was the affirmative - but she didn't look back. She didn't want to see his face again, didn't want to see the pain in his eyes. He wasn't _really _ok, not _really _happy. All those smiles, grins, laughs, jibes...they were all part of an act to make her leave him alone and she knew it. _Is it because of Arthur? _She asked herself as her lithe feet carried her along. _Or something deeper? _Her brow furrowed, troubled, and Jeanne realized that, in all sincerity, she did not want to know.

XXXX

Dylan's face was covered with purple bruises. It was of the upmost misfortune that his father had to aim for a place so visible - how was he suppossed to explain these to mum? - but, he knew nothing would be done about it. He felt bad, sort of, for his little brother though. He _had _told Arthur to leave, the boy wasn't lying, but when Allister had come home he saw Dylan's face and became _so angry_ that Dylan was afraid if he said anything, he'd get a beating too. Dylan didn't quite understand it, but his older brother became livid whenever anyone was ever left alone with pa. _'Never leave __**anyone **__alone with pa.' _He would say, and the majority of the time, everyone listened.

_He could've treated Arthur a little less harshly though.. _Dylan thought to himself, recalling the blood that had stained his brother's legs. As soon as he had seen Arthur's legs like that, he had left the room; he didn't want to see them, because seeing them made him feel _guilty. _

Sighing, Dylan leaned against the bathroom door. He could hear young Arthur inside - he was bathing, probably surveying his injuries with much dismay, probably hating Allister for causing them. _I need to...apologize. _Dylan figured, yet he knew deep inside that he would never be able to say the words. He could comfort his brother though, that much he could do.

There was the sound of water dripping onto the floor as Arthur emerged, and Dylan lay his head back against the door in waiting. Fabric rustled as his little brother changed into his pajamas. When finally Arthur opened the door, he was wearing a soft, blue nightgown. Dylan knew it immidiantly; it was the nightgown that mother had sewn for him when she was still well. Pa didn't like to see Arthur wearing it, and neither did Allister. Dylan found himself admiring his brother - he was defying them, in his own way.

Arthur's nose scrunched up when he saw him. "Dylan?" He asked, and there was a edge to his tone; he was making himself sound angry, but that was because he was being cautious. Dylan frowned. He was afraid.

"Hey, little one..." Dylan murmured, kneeling a bit so he was at the same height as his brother. He could see red rims around Arthur's eyes still. _Even in the bath...was he still crying? _He reached out, intending to ruffle Arthur's hair.

The latter ducked away. "I'm not little." He retorted, puffing out his cheeks with annoyance. He rubbed his eyes next, as if to rid himself of that annoying evidence of his sorrow. "Allister said I had to go to bed." Arthur said pointedly, an obvious diversion; what he really wanted to say was 'go away'.

_His eyes...I bet they're sore from all those tears... _Dylan thought ponderously, his fingers drumming against his side. "Well..." He said quietly, "I guess you'd better go to bed then."

"Yeah." Arthur looked at his feet.

After a moment of silence, Dylan leaned over and kissed his little brother on the forehead. The latter flinched away in response, his gaze hurt, and it tore Dylan up inside to see. _He doesn't trust me. _"Goodnight, Arthur." He whispered quickly, rising to his feet. Arthur retreated to his room hurriedly, leaving Dylan all alone in the hallway. _He hates all of us... _Dylan sighed, and he turned away.

When he was halfway down the hall, Dylan heard something shatter. "Allister! Allister, where's your mother!" A voice was thundering. "Where is she? That bitch!" Something else was smashed. "She's out cheating on me, isn't she? I'll throttle her, I will! Allister! Allister!"

Dylan shuddered at the sound of his father's voice. He really did not want to go out there - it would be better just to go to bed... He didn't care, really, where his mom was, or what she was doing - she dissapeared often, but she always returned within a few days. Sometimes, she had money when she returned. Dylan really didn't care how she got it; it helped feed the family.

Footsteps clattered loudly as Eily rushed down the hall to her room. The corner of her dress was torn, and her hand was bleeding slightly. A translucent piece of glass protruded out of the palm; she fished it out with expert precision, then tossed it away from her as hard as she could, so it smacked into the wall. When she saw Dylan looking at her, she frowned, her red eyebrows furrowing. "Little brother," She began, placing her uninjured hand on her hip. "you'd best go to bed right now, sir." She snorted. Dylan opened his mouth to reply, but she went inside her own room (which she shared with Arthur), leaving him alone in the hallway.

He was about to leave - his body was turned three quarters of the way around, and he was about to descend down the hallway to his own room (which he shared with Allister) - when something struck him as _wrong. _His father had stopped yelling. The house was...silent. This disturbed him, it was wrong in so many ways, and he found himself turning back around, and heading _towards _the violence. As quietly as he could, Dylan Kirkland crept towards the kitchen. It was right beside the living room, which was likely where his father was. _But maybe...it is only quiet because father went to bed. _He told himself, for he knew that his parent's bedroom was right next to the living room.

Heart throbbing, Dylan walked into the kitchen. From there he looked over the yellow counters and towards the disaster. His eyes were inquisitive - wide, and staring - and he surveyed a broken picture frame lying near the foot of the couch, and a shattered vase - his mother's vase - smashed beside the bedroom door. No one was in the room, and it scared him. His heart seemed to beat even harder, so hard that he felt it in his throat and in his temples, and sweat grew upon his brow. _So wrong...something is so wrong... _His mind kept reciting.

"GET OVER HERE!" Dylan heard his father's voice roar; it came from within his bedroom.

_Oh god...he knows I'm here! _Dylan thought, and he swayed on his feet. He started shaking, and for a moment he thought he might throw up.

"Ha. Look at you. You're so pathetic." His father continued, his voice wavering slightly, probably from the alcohol.

Dylan didn't know how his father could see him - _The door must be open a crack! _He thought. - but it didn't matter anyways, because he was terrified. He didn't obey his father, he didn't stay to hear more insults, he merely turned, fear making him skiddish, and _ran. _He sprinted down the hall, perspiration dampening his skin, and slammed into his bedroom door. It took him a few moment to find the door nob, as it was dark now, and when he was able to open it, he slid inside without a word.

The room was dark as well, and he couldn't see a thing. The only reason he could tell his bed from his brother's (besides from which side of the room they were on) was the tale-tale stench of cigar smoke that constantly lingered around Allister's bed. It was not secret that his brother, though underage, smoked (he would drink to, if he could find anything father hadn't already sucked dry). Dylan's bed was the one that smelled _chaste_, and so he made his way towards it.

Once Dylan found his bed, he practically jumped inside it. He curled up into a little ball, pulling the blankets tight around his frame. Even though he was sweating, and he felt sticky with heat beneath the covers, he didn't want to take them off - then he would feel exposed. For a while, he lay awake panting. When he felt like he had calmed, and his heart had stopped beating so fast, he was able to breathe, "G-goodnight Allister." He got no response; it didn't phase him. _Allister is already, probably, asleep. _He figured, but it didn't really matter.

XXXX

Francis couldn't sleep. He wanted to, but he could not. Every time he started to drift off, his body would try to shift, and when his body tried to shift, it hurt. He hurt especially worse than normal; somehow Auguste knew about his escapade to Arthur's house, and he supposed he was suffering for it. No preparation - that was his punishment.

He knew if he lay on his stomach the pain would subside, but he would not bring himself to lay in such a way. He _could_, but it was a vulnerable position, and made him feel exposed, and so he remained on his back, staring up at the ceiling. There was a big crack on his ceiling. He liked staring at it, and fancying that one day his father would walk in and the ceiling would cave in on him. He would pretend to cry, but inside he would be laughing. _Bye, bye, Auguste._

If only Charline would hurry and come home, then his pain would lessen; his father didn't bother him as much when his wife was home. Charline wasn't Francis' mother, in fact, he didn't know _who _his real mother was, and he wasn't allowed to ask, so he supposed he would never know. Charline was the one who _made _the most money in the family. Sure, Auguste did as well, but not nearly as much. Charline had connections - rich friends, a rich family, and rich admirers - and she knew how to pull their strings so that they'd be coughing dough into her hand by sunrise. She was out on business now. Francis hoped she'd come home soon. He actually missed her, for once...

Tears were running down his face when Francis closed his eyes. He didn't care if it hurt anymore - he was going to sleep, damn it! He forced his body to remain still for as long as he could, and slowly, slowly, Francis drifted into a troubled sleep.

XXXX

"You're so pathetic..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Dormez-vous? ****Chapter 5**

It must have been around midnight when Allister slowly crept into Eily and Arthur's room. Both of them were sleeping soundly, the quiet noise of their snoring reverberating throughout the room; it was a lovely sound, all in all, and in his drunken stupor, Allister _craved _it. Every small, soft noise was like a drug to him, making his heart slow to a leisure, numbed pace; every tiny, gentle sound was bliss, like an angel wrapping her arms around his waist. He loved it. He was glad he had gotten drunk.

Though, maybe he wasn't as drunk as he had first thought. He still knew what he was doing in his siblings' room, and he still was sharp enough to be sneaky about it when he entered. It would be so annoying if one of them were to awaken, although Arthur usually slept like a log anyways. Eily, however, was another matter.

The shadows that filtered through the translucent, square window danced like phantoms upon the sleeping figures as Allister, on the tips of his feet, stalked up to his youngest brother's bed. _I could never do this sober. _He thought with a sneer, staring down at the sleeping Arthur with a wild look in his eyes. How peaceful Arthur looked, compared to him with his mussed red hair and dark-rimmed eyes. Allister tilted his head a bit, his mouth contorting into an 'o' shape as his eyes searched his brother. Arthur was curled up into a ball, his blankets kicked back at the foot of the bed, his bare legs exposed in the shining moonlight. Dark yellow locks of hair spilled around his face onto the pillow, and his fingers were twined together at his breast as his little shoulders rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm.

_Nance. _Was the first thought that came into Allister's mind. _You even wore that awful nightgown - __**girl's **__pajamas. _Snorting with contempt, the red head ran a hand through his own hair - it was sticky, and caught in clumps between his hands - , then kneeled beside Arthur's bed, reaching out an inquisitive hand. His emerald eyes slid over to Eily for a moment - yes, she was asleep - before he allowed himself further contact, and brought his hand to Arthur's head.

For a moment, he let it lay there, his fingers surrounded by soft, clean strands of gold upon his brother's head. Then, slowly, he brought his hand down, letting it pass over the silk of the pale turquoise nightgown, and towards Arthur's legs. It was his legs he wanted to see. Without a sound, Allister pulled up the edge of the girly pajamas, as gently as he could fathom, and locked his eyes upon the damage he had done. It wasn't _that bad_, in his opinion - his father had beaten him a whole lot worse many other times - and Arthur _and _Dylan had both learned a valuble lesson from it, Allister was positive. _They'll never leave each other alone again, not with pa. They won't get hurt now, they'll have one another, protect one another - they will not be sullied! _Still, it made him a bit annoyed, staring down at Arthur's lashed red legs, and seeing the little cuts where the stick had bit too deep.

After a moment, he pulled his hand away, rearranging Arthur's nightgown to how it had been before. _You're still a nance. _He told his brother in his thoughts, leaning back on his heels for a moment before standing. _It's not like I kept my promise anyways. I said I'd beat you until the stick broke, but __**I **__broke the stick against my leg. _A drunken smile played upon his lips for a moment. _I only beat you until I knew you'd hate me, and fear me. _Laughing, Allister turned to leave.

To his horror, Eily was sitting up in her bed, watching him. She had the _worst _expression on her face, and was clutching her blanket about herself as if it were a life raft in a stormy ocean. Wide eyed and mouth slight agape, she wore a pure expression of mortification.

"Eily-" Allister began when he saw her.

She cut him off. "_What were you doing to Arthur?" _She questioned, her tone scathing, every word she uttered emphasized though she spoke in a whisper. Her pink lips seemed a bit pale, and they quivered every so slightly with either fury or fear - Allister couldn't tell. He couldn't tell his sister what he'd been doing either. Allister Kirkland didn't _feel_.

"I don't know." He said bluntly, purposefully staggering in a way much similar to his dad's. He came towards Eily a bit, staring blindly at her, then swerved and headed for the door. He was exaggerating his alcohol now, but, for some reason, he kind of resented having drunk in the first place.

Foolishly believing that her brother was hammered, Eily threw back her covers and jumped from her bed. She cast Allister a look of extreme distrust before rushing over to the side of Arthur's bed and crouching protectively beside it. For a second, her eyes flickered to the boy, scanning him, but then after deciding he was fine, she looked back up at Allister. "_Never come in here." _She told him, emphasizing every word as before. _"Never come near us when you're this way."_

It was a cruel thing to say, but Allister wasn't one to hold back cruel things; "And what if I do?" He asked, almost in a snarl. "Are you going to stop me? Attack me? _Murder _me?" His eyes were rage as he spoke, but his feet carried him towards the door. "This family would be _nothing _without me." He hissed psychotically, feeling heart coiling inside his chest like a python. "Why, without me, you'd all be miserable." His hand caught the door nob and slowly he opened it. "Without me, you'd _be me." _And then he departed, leaving his frightened and over-protective sister in the shadows, and sweet little Arthur sleeping beside her.

XXXX

A strange thing occurred that next morning. Francis awoke to the smell of hot coffee, the delicious aroma wafting through his very being and tugging him out of bed. Bliss almost overtook him at the scent, he knew what it meant - Charline was home! Laughter filled his mouth as Francis clambered from bed, racing noisily downstairs and into the kitchen. He tripped on the last step, but hopped up unscathed soon after. "Charline!" He cried, overjoyed.

Pouring coffee at the kitchen table stood a tall, firmly built woman with shoulder-length black hair. She had brown eyes, the same color as the liquid she poured, and she seldom smiled. Still, at the sight of Francis so enthralled, her lips twitched in the slightest bit. "Good morning, Francis." She said dully, returning into her emotionless state, and she poured Auguste a cup of coffee as well. He was sitting at the table, his blond hair combed back and clean, his face shaven, and his clothes dandy. Francis looked at him for a moment.

"Good morning, darling." His father said, and Francis, in return, giggled.

After a moment of standing and admiring his care-takers, Francis came forwards. He outstretched his hands towards Auguste, tilting his head back and arching his feet; he wanted to be held. "Mon pére!" He whined, reaching up further.

Chuckling, Auguste swung him off the ground and set Francis upon his knee. Francis nuzzled against him - Charline looked on with a face devoid of feeling and slowly, took sips of her coffee. After a moment, Francis' father said, "Do you want to know who your mother is, boy?"

As if stuck by matches, the lights in Francis' eyes came on. His head swiveled and he gazed up at his father. "Oh, yes!" He said, a quiet squeak of excitement escaping his lips. _Finally, to know who my mother is! _

Suddenly, the world grew dark. In fact, the only thing that seemed to stay the same shade of lightness was Auguste's eyes, and the flash of his charming white teeth. "Oh, I'll tell you who she _was_." He cackled darkly, and his arms suddenly came crushing around Francis, and his nails dug into the boy's skin.

Francis cried out in shock and hurt, casting a swift glance over at Charline. But Charline didn't even look phased. In fact, she merely turned her back, and trodded out of the room, leaving her coffee to grow cold on the table. The world got a little bit darker. Francis looked back at his father, whimpering, "Pére?"

Taking a deep breath, Auguste brought his son's face close to his own. When he began reciting his story, his breaths came in little whispery gasps between broken sentences, and his mouth smelled awfully of wine. "Your mother was a whore." He said in a low snarl. "Charline couldn't have babies, and I wanted - no - I _needed _a boy child...so I sought out your mother." He laughed darkly at this before continuing. "You see, I made the foolish bitch fall in love with me dearly - and that's the biggest mistake a whore can make, falling in love - and after this, I impregnated her with my seed. _You." _Francis' mouth was agape. He was horrified, but his father continued. "Well, after I'd had my fun, and you were born, I had no use for her...so I told the town - she's a witch, a witch, I tell you! - and you know what they did to your poor mummy?"

Silence. Auguste seemed to find this amusing.

"They _burned _her lovely body at the stake." He howled insanely like this, his chest shaking with laughter, his grip on Francis tightening harshly. "And so me and Charline took in our poor little bastard boy! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Francis began to shake at this. His eyes wanted to close, but he could not close them - they were just open too wide! - and now, something was wrapping around his neck, and he was suffocating! He couldn't breathe! The fingers around his throat were tightening like iron pincers and Auguste's laughter was intensifying, growing louder, and the world was turning black, then white!

"_NON!" _

Dumbly, Francis blinked open his eyes. "NON! NON! NON!" He continued to scream, jolting up in bed. The blankets fell around him in his haste, and a sharp pain shot through his body. "Non!" He yelled, one last time, before going into a state of sorrow and tears, crying, "Non...non..."

He realized now that he had been dreaming, but still the horror of the situation stuck in his mind like super glue, and like a cinema film it replayed over and over again. His chest was heaving now with sobs, and he wanted to curl up into the fatal position and cry his eyes out...no, he wanted to run. He wanted to run as far away as he could from this place! "Frére Jaques...frére Jaques..." Francis sang to himself, trying to quiet the sobs that shook his whole body. Tears slid out of his eyes uncontrollably, and he felt so alone. "Dormez-vous? Dormez..." He stopped.

Someone was standing in his doorway. It was Auguste. His face was unshaven, and he had dark rings beneath his eyes. "What's with all the noise?" He growled. "Are you trying to wake the whole neighborhood?" Francis didn't reply, he merely pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged onto them, whimpering softly as he soaked his bare legs with tears. After a moment, his father came over.

Undeniably, there was concern in his father's gaze - a deep, glittering emotion that wavered on the surface of the man's jaded blue eyes - and he sat down beside his son, on the bed. "What's wrong, baby?" He asked, as sugar-sweetly as he could, and, when Francis didn't look at him, he put his warm hands around his son's effiminatley thin waist and pulled him close. Hot, wine-smelling breath ran across Francis' shoulder and down his spine. "Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?" He inquired, clearly referencing last night's dark adventures.

Barely moving, Francis uttered the word, "Non..." and then resumed his crying. He wasn't sobbing anymore, only weeping silent tears, and it embarrassed him that Auguste was in the room during this.

"Do you love your pére?"

The question caught Francis off guard. Momentarily, his tears stopped. He didn't know how to answer. _Of course I love you, your my father! _Was one thing he could say, that, or, _How __**could **__I love you after what you do to me? _But he took too long debating his answer, and Auguste was not a patient man.

Before Francis knew what was going on, his father had him pinned upon his back. His arms were being held down at his sides, and the crushing weight of Auguste's knee came down upon his legs. Fear sparked inside Francis, and he felt his eyes widening as the pressure exerted by his father's knee slowly made his legs slide apart. "N-non! non!" He cried out, squirming. "I love you! I love you! Je t'aime! Je t'aime!" Tears glimmered in the corner of his eyes, then dulled as they hit his pallid skin and slid down his face. He was shivering.

A smile of pity played upon Auguste's lips, and he snorted out a laugh. "Sweet boy, I know you love me." He murmured, leaning in so that his nose brushed against Francis'. Their eyes met, and Francis suddenly became aware - and he hated it - that his father and he looked somewhat the same. "I wouldn't want to wear you out, now, would I? So relax, child..."

For a moment, Francis let hid body go limp, but then, a moment later, it stiffened again, for it is hard to relax when someone's lips are pressing against your mouth. _It does not matter. I am no longer innocent anyhow. _He told himself, although he opened his mouth with shy reluctance when his father's tongue demanded admittance. Auguste kissed him for a while - roughly so - and make sure to touch every corner of Francis' mouth with his tongue, before he finally pulled away.

"There." He said when he was finished, smiling as if this was the greatest day in the world. Reaching down, he ruffled Francis' hair. "No more tears, oui?"

Francis forced a smile in return. "O-oui." He stammered.

XXXX

"Your eyes are all red." Jeanne pointed out. She had been waiting for Francis to emerge since early morning, and was currently munching on a loaf of break and cheese that she claimed was bought for her by her big brother. "You okay?" She asked, mouth full of her breakfast, eyes sharp and searching.

There was a pause, but then Francis looked at her and smiled. "Of course." He chuckled, stretching his arms out behind him experimentally, and twining his fingers together. "Nawh, I just had a bad dream, that's all." He sat down beside her, leaning his head against her shoulder in a thoughtful way and staring off into the distance. "I'm fine though..."

"Ah," Jeanne nodded, reaching over affectionately to run her little fingers through her comrade's long hair. She popped the last bit of bread in her mouth and ate it slowly, savoring it, before asking, "What was the dream about?"

Sighing, Francis turned his head ever so slightly, hiding his face in her shoulder. "My mom." He murmured. Jeanne just nodded. She didn't ask for anything more.

XXXX

Arthur woke up the next day, surprised to find his elder sister curled around him. It was odd, and Eily's arms held him, her grip relentless, so he was forced to remain in her grasp until she finally woke up. He wanted to call her a lazy buffoon once she finally _did _open her eyes, but she stopped him, putting a finger to his lips and saying, "Arthur, honey, I need you to listen to me." and it wasn't often that Eily called him honey, or anything affectionate for that matter, so Arthur instantly paid attention to her. She seemed a bit morose, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and when she spoke she did so quietly, "I need you to promise to stay away from Pa - and from Allister - when they've been drinking."

Deciding that his sister didn't have anything interesting to say, Arthur yawned rudely in her face. "I already _know _that." He whined with annoyance.

There was a glitter of anger in Eily sharp green eyes, and for a moment she _looked like _Allister, but then that glitter faded. She sighed. "If anyone..._anyone_ ever...did something to you, you'd tell me right?" Her face was almost pleading, and she folded her hands into her lap, head craned downwards as she gazed at her brother. "Right?"

_This is a load of bull. _Arthur thought with annoyance. He had no idea what his sister was talking about - first she lets Allister beat the crap out of him, now she wants him to tell her all his secrets? _Fine. She can have them! _He was fuming. "Ok, well, when I was younger, one time, Pa let me try a sip of rum and it was _di-scust-ing_, and then one time I broke a tea cup and blamed it on Dylan when I was little, but Allister knew I was lying so he told Pa it was me and I got smacked, and then one time-"

"Arthur, that's not what I _mean!" _She groaned, shifting her body uncomfortably. She rubbed her hands together in her nervousness, then finally blurted, "Has Allister ever _touched _you _innapropriatley_?"

A curtain of red blush was thrown over Arthur's face. He practically staggered backwards, hitting his head on the wall. "_Hell no!" _He squealed, outraged and completely embarrassed. "_Why _would you _ask _such a question!" He felt his bushy eyebrows twitching slightly up and down, something they did when he was horrified.

Casting her eyes towards a distant corner of the room, Eily sighed. "Never mind, Arthur." She murmured quietly, and then she forced a laugh out of her throat, and reached out to tussle her little brother's hair. "Just remember, you can always trust me."

"Y-yeah." Arthur stuttered, slinking away from his sister. _What the hell is her problem! _"I'm going to go...eat breakfast!" He muttered, and quickly fled the room.

Everyone else was already in the kitchen when Arthur arrived. Eily was trodding along at his heels, but at a distance, and Arthur was grateful - oh, how she had embarrassed him! His father was seated at the end of the table, a tall glass of rum beside his plate of scrambled eggs and fresh squash. He wasn't drunk yet, not even close. He always started his shenanigans in the mornings, it was normal for that glass of alcohol to be there, and so nobody in the room was phased by it. Dylan, who still bore purplish bruises upon his face, was staring into his plate and fussing with his food, eating little mouse bites, and Allister wasn't eating anything - he was merely chugging a cup of milk - and glaring venomously at everyone who dared look upon him.

His father was the first to look up when they entered the room. "Good morning-" He began, but stopped mid-sentence, his mouth contorting into a frown and his eyes flashing. "Why're you wearing _that dress_?" He hissed, indicating towards Arthur's lovely nightgown with with fork.

Grimacing, Arthur was quick to reply, "I'm sorry, sir. They're pajamas, sir. I'll change, sir." and he turned to flee the room.

"Nance." He heard Allister grumble behind him, and Arthur turned his head just in time to see Eily and his brother echange death-glares. Not understanding why the pair were mad at each other, Arthur merely shrugged to himself and continued on to his room.

XXXX

"Why aren't _you _working today?" Arthur growled from behind the corner. Everyone else had left for work following breakfast, and even his father had gone out to try to mooch off people. Allister, however, seemed to have better ideas. As soon as the house was empty (aside from Arthur, that is, who was charged with tending to the plants), Allister plopped himself down upon the couch and just lay there, staring at nothing. _Lazy bastard. _Arthur thought to himself, but at the same time, it was strange - Allister wasn't usually one to slack off.

"I don't feel well." His big brother said, throwing his arm across his face, as if to shield the light from his eyes. "Go and tend the garden, Arthur."

For a second Arthur thought about it, but then, it was unfair for him to be out working with stupid vegetables while Allister snored on the couch, so he darted forwards and yelled, "Come and help me, lazy! You can tend plants, get off your arse!" His hands reached up and he tugged harshly on Allister's sleeve. "You're not that sick!"

"Get away you twit!" Allister demanded snappishly, swatting his brother on the head with little force. "Go tend the plants, or I'll...I'll tan you!"

The latter stepped back at this, a furious pouting expression upon his face. It suddenly occurred to him that Allister must actually feel a bit weak, otherwise he surely would have slapped Arthur harshly by now. The thought floated around in Arthur's mind momentarily, and then he decided to take advantage of it. He forced himself not to smirk, and forgetting everything Eily had said to him this morning, climbed on to the edge of the couch.

Moving his hand away from his eyes, Allister gazed dully at him for a minute. His eyebrows furrowed upon his face, "What did I _just_ say, you smug little-"

"LAZY!" Arthur cut him off with a shriek, and leaping into the air, he landed heavily on his big brother's waist. "Ah-ha!" He hooted.

He hadn't expected Allister to scream; he did. He screamed loudly, his back arching, and pain flashed briefly in his eyes before he shut them closed. Arthur was mortified - he didn't understand what he'd done - and he scrambled backwards in fear, falling in between his brother's legs. "ARTHUR, GOD DAMN IT!" Allister howled, jolting upright, his chest heaving, and clutching at his waist.

Not comprehending, Arhur shrank back and began to cry. His shoulders shook with terror as he sobbed, and tears cascaded down his face. He was afraid - afraid for himself, and afraid that he'd hurt his brother. "I"m sorry, Allister! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He cried, trembling.

Much to his surprise, Allister didn't strike him. By some miraculous occurrence of will, he kept his fury embedded within his brain, and did not lash out. That did not keep him from being angry however. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU TRYING TO DO?" He yelled in Arthur's face, gasping between words as he did so.

Arthur shook. "I-I don't know!" He wailed. "I'm sorry!"

Sucking in a breath, Allister seemed to compose himself. He was quiet for a moment, then he raised his arm, pointing towards the back door. "Go." He said emotionlessly. "Go take care of the stupid plants."

"Y-yes!" Arthur squeaked, and he scrambled off the couch and fled. As he left he cast a hateful look over his shoulder. If he didn't know any better, it almost looked like Allister was crying. _Geez, it's not like I landed on his crotch! _He thought in outrage, running to the door. He opened it, then hesitated with his hand on the side of it, then called, "_You're_ the nance! It's not like I landed on your penis or anything!" and slammed the door.

Allister stared after him with a horrific expression of pain and anger. "No," He called after him, "You landed on my god damn intestines!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Dormez-vous? ****Chapter 6**

The morning was busy. Pa had left before anyone had woke, no one knew why, Allister was ill with a fever, and it was rumored that mum was returning home. For some reason, these three factors made the Kirkland children alive with activity.

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, scorching the dirty yellow wallpaper and stinging Arthur's eyes as he vigorously scrubbed the dishes. He wanted everything to look _perfect_, for in his mind, there was no rumor that mum was coming home, there was only promise. Dylan was dusting everything - he seemed almost as enthusiastic as his younger brother, although there was still a sliver of doubt in his eyes - and Eily was cooking, which annoyed Arthur deeply.

"Come, help us clean for when mum gets home!" He had said, when she started making bit steaming mess upon the stove. He would have to clean that later. Eily had shaken her head in response, and looked at him with pitying eyes.

"Stupid boy," She had responded, almost in a whisper. "Mum is never going to come home."

Her words chilled Arthur somehow, but he only stuck his little pink tongue out at her, and then resumed his duteous cleaning. Though he was trying his hardest, things seemed to be getting done at a slow pace, and thus little Arthur became ever more annoyed. He got especially agitated when, while he was washing dishes, he couldn't get the smell of alcohol out of one of the cups. Taking out a rag, he began scrubbing it furiously, lathering the inside of it with soap, and even calling upon his fairy friends to help him (they seemed to be occupied, however). After he had washed out the cup about three times, Arthur stuck his nose inside it and sniffed.

"Damn it all!" He screeched when he discovered the smell was still there, and he chucked the cup into the sink. His shoulders slumped with defeat, and he turned away. _Mum is never going to come home. _Eily's words echoed in his mind like a haunting melody.

"What's this? You give up already?" Eily chuckled, her arm working steadily to churn something within a medium-sized pot. It smelled good, unlike the stupid alchohol cup, and the scent wafted into Arthur's nose tauntingly.

Shuffling his feet, Arthur grumbled in reply, "No!" but his voice came out as a whine, and he knew Eily had him beat. Pouting, he came a few steps forwards, getting up on his tip-toes to peer into the pot. A small amount of soup was brewing at the bottom: it was a lovely pale brown color, like that of the earth, and had little flecks of green and orange floating within it. Arthur leaned closer, taking in a big breath. "Mmm...who's the soup for?" He asked, dreamily.

Snorting, Eily used her hip to bump him away from her precious concoction. "Not you." She murmured, breifly dipping a ladle into the soup, then withdrawing it to take a sip. After giving a nod of approval, she exstinguished the stove, proceeding to pour the soup into a little bowl. "It's for Allister." She said flatly.

"Oh." Arthur nodded with understanding. His eldest brother had barely been eating the past month, and although he claimed he was fine, he had a tendency to sway on his feet, and get exceedingly pale sometimes, for unknown reasons. Still, after the day Arthur had jumped on him, he had been forcing himself to work - and pushing himself too hard, always trying to out due Eily for some reason - and it had finally came down to him collapsing in the fields. Arthur and Eily both felt extreme guilt towards whatever was happening to Allister - Arthur thinking it was his accusation of 'lazy' and leaping upon the boy's stomach that caused the ordeal, and Eily thinking it was caused by depression, due to her unvoiced but obvious thoughts that Allister had been trying to do things to Arthur that one night.

After a moment, Arthur asked, "Can I bring the soup to him?"

A strange silence befell his sister as her old and awkward feelings returned to her. She quickly pushed them away, smiling weakly, "Of course." She said, freckled nose twitching, and she knelt down ever so slightly to hand the bowl to Arthur. "Don't you dare spill it now," She warned. "or I'll have to swat you a few with my ladle."

"I _won't_." Arthur responded in a growl, a sour expression on his face. Eily laughed ever-so-slightly at that, making him fluster a little, and he quickly turned to exit the kitchen.

"You know, when you were little, you weren't nearly as bitter." Eily called after him.

Arthur kept walking, thinking to himself, _When I was little, nobody threatened to swat me with ladles! _

Balancing the soup on one hand and turning the doorknob with his other, Arthur slowly entered Allister's bedroom. It was dark inside, and stuffy at that, not to mention that the air surrounding him clung to the stench of cigar smoke. He hated the smell, and wrinkled his nose at it, but he entered the room anyways, shutting the door behind him and allowing himself to become a part of the cool darkness and tainted scents. "Allister..." He called softly as he approached the bed, his feet unsure and wobbly when he came over. There was no reply, so he was forced to walk right up to the side of the bed, eyes searching.

It wasn't hard to spot the messy red hair sticking out from under the blankets in wispy tufts. Allister had curled himself up into a tight ball, wrapping the light grey sheets around him up to his forehead, so that even his face was hidden. He appeared to be asleep, in fact, he looked almost dead, and for a moment a great chill wracked Arthur's body as he weighed the likeliness of this, but then he spotted the slight rise and fall of the blankets, and knew his brother was still breathing. "Allister..." He called again, even softer than the first time, his voice now almost a whisper. Allister didn't move.

Biting his lip and clutching the soup close to his chest, Arthur began debating what to do. After a bit, he came to the conclusion that it would be best to wake his brother up - the boy needed to eat, after all - and, knowing is would be easier for Allister to smack him if he shook him awake, Arthur decided to wrench off his blankets instead, and expose his body to the cold air around them.

Sucking in a breath, Arthur announced, "Allister, I brought you soup!" and then, with his free hand, he snatched the edge of the blanket, and yanked it down as hard as he could, so that it fluttered lightly in the air for a moment, then settled at Allister's knees. "Get u-" He began, but stopped, his eyes growing large.

In the time it took for Allister to awaken, it was too late; Arthur had seen it all. He had seen the ugly yellow bruises - old, faded ones - that decked his brother's ribcage, and the newer, fresher ones - blue and raised - that were scattered upon his neck. He saw the pale, cruel scar that ran from his brother's left shoulder to his breastbone, and the smaller, newer, but still old, scar, that lay upon his brother's thigh. However, that was not the worst of it. The worst part was the word. Upon his brother's stomach, right beneath his belly button, a word was carved. It was a recent carving - glowing pink and swollen, and fading white and red - and the word was facing upwards, so that one would have to be looking down to read it... Arthur could not stand it, he staggered backwards, suddenly remembering a lot of things at once, primarily the day he had jumped upon his brother's stomach, and Allister had looked like he was about to cry.

It seemed like hours had passed, hours, and Arthur had been trapped staring at that _horrendous _word carved upon his brother's abdomen, but in all actuality, it had only been a few seconds. Shortly after having his blankets so rudely removed, Allister leapt to his feet. There was fire in his eyes, and although he was wearing nothing but his boxers, he was still a feircome sight to behold. "What the hell are you-" He began, but suddenly became self-conscious of himself, and his hand shot down in an attempt to hide the word. It was too late though, and both of them knew it - Arthur had saw.

He was about to cry, his shoulders were trembling, and his eyes began to sting, but then Allister came forwards and delivered a clout to his ear, causing him to spill soup all over himself and the floor. Another clout to the opposite ear made him drop the bowl in his hand; the spoon flew out during the fall and clattered noisily upon the floor. Arthur screamed and swung his little fist at his brother, but Allister caught it effortlessly and pinned him against the wall.

Not knowing what else to do, Arthur began kicking out his legs uncontrollably, all the while whining, "What _is _that? What _is that? What is that?" _and gesturing towards the grossly carved word with his flickering, fearful eyes.

"Oh, _this_?" Allister tried to sound surprised, and looked down innocently, as if seeing the fresh slash marks for the first time. When he looked back up that feigned innocence was replaced by venom, and anger. "_This _is what happens when you don't obey the rules, Arthur. _This _is what happens when you _sin_!" He leaned his face close to his little brother's, lips parted ever so slightly, and the faint smell of cigar and illness wafting from his mouth.

A whisper escaped Arthur's throat; "I don't understand..." He barley voiced. He no longer fought, only looked up, meekness in his eyes, "Who-"

"_Me." _The response was blunt, and Allister's voice was icy. He wound his long fingers around Arthur's small throat, though he didn't squeeze, and proceeded to snarl, "The rules apply even to _me_, Arthur. Only, I have bigger rules than you... The only problem is," and now he tightened his hand on his brother's neck. "I have to _break _the rules, to protect you...and Dylan, and Eily, but to hell with them right now." Laughing, he used his other hand to pinch Arthur's cheek. "Listen now, nancy, if you _ever _break the rules the way I have to, I will _carve _that into your _forehead_. Got it?"

Arthur nodded without hesitation, exclaiming, "Yes!" for good measure. Once his brother released his neck, he darted to the door, turning only momentarily to stare at the scarred word lying upon his brother's belly. It seemed to be screaming at him, looking at him...

"Well," Allister snapped when he did not leave. "get the fuck out of here!"

Unhesitating, the boy turned and ran. The soup was still clinging to the front of his shirt, and had gotten a little onto the cape he always wore, but he didn't care. He just wanted to _run_. Strange, too, for that awful _word _upon his brother's stomach...it was foreign to him. He didn't even know what it meant. _'I'll carve it into your forehead'. _Allister's threat echoed in his mind, and Arthur was suddenly breathing very heavily.

When he reached the front door he was spotted by Eily. She gave him one good looking-over, and then discovered the soup on his shirts. "Arthur Kirkland!" She boomed. "I told you not to spill that soup!" Her freckled face seemed to grow a shade redder, and she snatched her cooking ladle from the kitchen counter, raising it formidably. "You've got a spanking coming along!" She howled. She smacked Arthur once on his rear when he passed her by, and would've struck him more, but he was out the door before then. "You just wait, little boy! As soon as you get home-!"

Arthur didn't hear her. He wouldn't have cared to anyways, he had something important to do - he was running away.

As he was running, he passed a skimpy looking woman on the corner of of a street. She had shaggy, dirty blonde hair that looked as if it had been cut with a shaving razor, and deep-set green eyes that were surrounded by dark purple circles. Her body held the look that once it had been beautiful, but now it was emaciated, and the skin just clung to her bones, and her face seemed sunken in and desperate. "Boy!" She blubbered incoherently as Arthur dashed passed. She stumbled forwards for a moment, then rested her bracelet-covered arm upon her hip. "Arthur!" She called, her voice raspy. "Come see your mummy!"

Not slowing, Arthur completely ignored her. He didn't even look back. _That's not mum. _He thought to himself, remembering the beautiful, healthy woman he had once known as a child - the woman who had smelled of flowers, and loved to knit and sew - now _that _was his mother. This woman...she was nothing but a bad imposter. _Mum's not coming home. She is never coming home. _He told himself morosely, and then continued on.

XXXX

Francis sat at the window in his bedroom, staring down below towards the forest with a sad longing in his eyes. It had been a month since he'd had that awful dream about his mother, and his nearest substitute, Charline, had not returned yet, still. There was a letter sent from her, explaining some dull things about business and the like, and saying she would have to spend another month away from home. Auguste didn't even read the letter, he only took out the little envelope of money, then tossed the letter aside. Francis had to retrieve it and read it himself, though he didn't understand much of it, and it bored him.

"Day dreaming, are you?" Auguste asked. He was sitting behind his son, and running his hands over Francis' pale and unclothed body. Every once in a while he would take a pretty silver comb and pull it through Francis' hair, but for the most part he was touching. Francis didn't mind too much, after all, it was only touching.

He didn't respond to his father's question with a word, instead he only nodded, bringing his hands up beneath his chin. He wondered what would happen if someone walked by while his father was doing what he was doing. _Would they look through the window and see, and be horrified?_ _Would they come to save me? _He shook the thoughts out of his head. _No, they would come to stop __**us**__. They wouldn't care about __**me **__individually. _

Sighing, Francis let himself drift into even deeper daydreams. He vaguely recalled, as a child, being taken to an execution by Auguste. There had been two men, and they were hanged for the crime of sodomy. Francis had cried hysterically when he was forced to watch their feet dance around despairingly in the air. Once he was done bawling, he asked his father why they had been killed. After all, he didn't understand the word sodomy then. Auguste had replied with a twisted grin, and a look of knowing, "You see, Francis, one of them told a special secret that they weren't supposed to tell. This is what happens." He made a gesture towards the bodies. "You're better than that though, right? You wouldn't break _our _secret." Francis had nodded. He promised his father that he would never tell. He didn't want to die.

Something green and moving caught his half-opened eyes, and Francis was jolted back to reality. He didn't stiffen, or try to see more, because then his father would know something was up, but he locked his eyes upon the movement automatically. It was a person, a child, who was running with a dark forest-green cape flapping out behind them. The child was heading towards the forest. "Pére," Francis murmured sweetly, turning his head ever so slightly to peer over his shoulder.

Auguste was busy tracing his fingers down his son's spine, but after a moment he glanced upwards, his blue eyes glittering. "Oui?" He asked, leaning in closer during the process.

Ignoring this, and when Auguste's lips became pressed against his neck, Francis mumbled quietly, "I was wondering...if I could go outside." It seemed Auguste did not relish the idea, or maybe he simply didn't care to listen to his son, because he bit down upon the soft skin of Francis' neck, sucking at it lightly. Withholding a gasp, and biting his lip, Francis dared to push his hand against his father's forehead. "_Pére_." He whined, squirming slightly when the bite became harder, though he did not pull away.

After he had left a definite mark upon Francis' skin, Auguste pulled away. His bright eyes were shiny with lust, but he made no move to quench his desires, and Francis knew he would not. He would never sully his son twice in one day, he was too afraid he might break him. "Fine, fine," He muttered, voice dripping with discontent. "Go outside and play with your little girlfriend." He was referring to Jeanne, and Francis just went along with it. If he was silent, Auguste would leave sooner. "I'm going to go drink." His father said, and, sure enough, he got up and left.

As quick as a flash, Francis was up and getting dress. There wasn't time for him to make himself look fancy, somehow Francis knew that, so he just adourned a simple light blue tunic (and the appropriate underclothes, and shoes, of course). He didn't even look in the mirror before he left - didn't try to cover up the hickey mark on his neck, or make his mussed hair look perfect - he just skipped downstairs, past his father, and out the front door.

Once outside, Francis was running, as fast as his feet could carry him, into the forest. He almost dashed into a mud puddle in his haste, but swerved at the very last moment, and coincidentally began running even faster. He had to find that child...that child whom had been missing from his life for a month now. _Arthur... _He thought to himself, leaping over a fallen log. He dared not call the boy's name aloud. _My little bunny. _

"Damn it!" A voice suddenly screeched, and Francis swerved abruptly in the direction of it. "Let go, you bloody fool!" Francis darted to the right, chest heaving up and down, eyes full with light and excitement. Sure enough, he found the young Englishman. His cape had caught upon a bush, and he was thrashing vehemently to free himself. "Stupid! Ugly! Git-face bush!"

"Ha! Look at the mess you've gotten yourself into!" Francis chuckled, frolicking over to the younger boy. Arthur seemed to grow awfully glum a the sight of him, and he sank to the ground, glaring up at Francis with silent, resentful eyes. Seeing he wouldn't get anywhere by standing there, Francis walked over to the bush, and skillfully untangled the cape, not damaging a single thread as he did so.

There was a brief moment of silence afterwards, in which Arthur stood and stared down at his feet, and Francis scooted closer to the boy, wanting ever-so-badly to hold his tiny hand but not daring to try. Finally, Arthur muttered, "What are you doing out here, frog?"

"Following you." Francis replied bluntly. "What are you doing out here?"

"...running away."

"Ok."

Arthur's gaze snapped up, and his pudgy face grew a little red. "_Ok? _What the hell do you mean, _ok_? You're just going to let me go, you're not going to stop me, or run to my house and tell everyone so I'll get into trouble?" He raised his fist at this, bringing it down lightly upon Francis' chest. "I thought you liked me, stupid frog!"

A mischievous smile crossed Francis' face, as slowly an idea was hatched within him. "I'm not irresponsible." He said carefully, catching Arthur's wrists lightly in his hands. He flipped his head to the side, to rid his face of any stray hairs that were attempting to get into his eyes, before he continued. "I _do _like you, silly, and that's why I'm going to come _with _you." He said this almost as casually as someone would say hello, and this seemed to startle Arthur.

Turning red, Arthur looked away. "Bullocks!" He grumbled, unable to conceal his blushing while his wrists were being held (though if he really wanted to, he could have twisted out of Francis' grasp quite easily). "You're not serious..." He murmured.

"Oh," Francis tilted his head to one side, then leaned down a bit, so that his face was inches away from Arthur's. He beamed. "but I am. We're going to run away together, you and I, and no one will ever hurt you again." This said, he leaned closer and kissed Arthur upon the forehead.

Arthur burned even hotter than before, then slid his wrists out of Francis grip, replacing them with his hands. His fingers closed around the older boy's palms tightly, and he gave them a squeeze. "Ok." He said simply. _Keep me safe...? _And in his mind, he was remembering his brother, and that awful carving upon his stomach, and he thought about how it would feel to have that word carved upon his forehead. _'If you ever break the rules the way I have to...' _Arthur shuddered. "Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

**Dormez-vous? ****Chapter 7**

Running away was fine at first, but, as time changed and it began to get dark, it seemed like less and less of a good idea. Arthur was a bit more used to the dark than Francis - he _had_ ran away many times before, and suffered the trials of nighttime - but, as for the latter, who had a set time he had to be indoors, the outside world was mesmerizing - and terrifying - during the night. To Francis, any rustle of the leaves in the wind was Auguste coming to hunt him down, any snap of a twig was his boot, any warped shadow was his angry form. Besides all the monsters that seemed to thrive in the forest, it began to get cold the darker it got, and, after a short while of walking in the darkness, Francis' teeth began chattering.

"Frog, will you be quiet already!" Arthur hissed, squinting up at his companion with an unhappy expression on his face. "You're going to attract wild animals or something! Plus, it's annoying!" Almost without thinking, he reached over and punched him in the arm; it wasn't a hard punch, in fact, it was more playful than anything. It made him fluster with heat whenever he realized he had done that - it was something he used to do with Dylan, when they were little, and got along better; it was a sign of affection, which made it all the more embarrassing.

Luckily, Francis could not see him blushing in the dark, and he was too scared to have noticed anyways. He was shaking all over now - it looked like he was about to pee himself! "S-s-sorry..." He stammered in response to Arthur, his glittering blue eyes glazed straight ahead. "It's c-c-cold..." He mumbled, rubbing his hands over each other in an attempt to generate heat. Arthur scrunched his nose up at him and raised an eyebrow. Francis ignored him, resuming his shaking and teeth-chattering. "A-Arthur, I'm _cold_." He whined again, as if to reiterate his point. "And I'm _sleepy._"

_It's as if __**I'm **__the older one! _Arthur thought to himself smugly. He let a smirk cross his face, as his chest swelled a little with a feeling of importance, and he beamed up at Francis. The older boy didn't pay attention to him for a bit, so Arthur took the time to put on a more serious expression. Then, he reached up and pulled Francis' sleeve. "I'll find someplace to sleep." He announced.

It was as if a light had been switched on inside Francis' body. Suddenly, he was smiling and hopping up and down on his feet like a toddler. "Ok!" He chirped merrily, and then, as if noticing his cheerful demeanor, he sank back into being morose. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if it was all an act. "Lead the way, mon cher." Francis told him quietly, only slightly smirking.

"Yeaaaah..." Arthur shook his head with irritation, but he began to search for a place for them to rest anyways. It felt good being the one to make decisions for once, to have power over another, to be able to _take care _of someone, and so Arthur thought deeply about where he should pick a shelter. There were bushes all around them, but none seemed to have any thickets, and besides that, it may be dangerous to sleep out in the open. They weren't near any caves, which would be the ideal thing, and there were no people living anywhere near. "There's only one place," Arthur said aloud, and he avoided looking up at his companion. "it's not comfortable, but it's safe." He started walking towards his destination.

Sighing with relief, Francis moaned, "_Finally _a place to sleep..." He skipped up behind Arthur, following him along like a puppy. "But I don't see any houses out here..." He said innocently, blinking in the cool shadows of the trees around him. "All I see is trees."

Stifling a laugh, Arthur turned to look at him, hands on his hips. "Idiot." He grumbled, poking the Frenchman in the chest. "We _are _sleeping in a tree." His green eyes seem to flash deviously as he said so, and he twirled back around, racing into the darkness without Francis and giggling the whole time.

In shock, Francis stood stock-still for a moment, then, he rushed after Arthur, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Wait! _Wait!_" and shivering once more. He seemed terrified, and it made Arthur feel kind of bad for him, so the younger boy slowed down and allowed him to catch up. Once he was beside him again, Francis' hand shot out and clamped onto Arthur's own, not releasing no matter how hard the latter pulled. "How are we going to sleep in a _tree_?" Francis inquired with raised eyebrows, squeezing onto Arthur's little hand. His hand _was_ freezing, Arthur had to admit.

"We _climb_, genius." The Englishman replied with a snort. For a moment he just stared up at Francis, pressing his lips together in a serious line, but then, he started to laugh. He had to look away. He didn't know why he was laughing, but then again, maybe it was the situation. He was, after all, in the forest, with his family's sworn enemy, holding said person's hand, and about to sleep with him, in a tree. Francis didn't seem to like his laughing, for he made some strange little whiny noise in the back of his throat. "Ah, come on," Arthur said to that, stopping himself from chuckling anymore. "I'll show you." He then led the other boy to the tree he had had his sights on for a while now - a rather tall one, with a low hanging branch that would be easy to pull oneself up on. Leaves were abundant on this tree as well, offering _some _shelter from the freezing night air.

A short gasp escaped Francis' lips, and he stared up at the tree with fascination and wonder in his eyes. Arthur gave him a look - one thick eyebrow raised, and a pout on his face - but he didn't seem to notice. For what seemed like a long time, Francis didn't say a word. Then, finally, he whispered, "I feel so...brave."

Squinting at his companion, Arthur snapped, "_Brave? _How do you feel _brave? _You're just going to climb a bloody tree!" He stamped his foot. _This guy... _"See, all you do is haul yourself up on the branch! There's nothing _brave _about it."

"Hah..." Francis lowered his head, and for a moment his light blonde hair covered his eyes. His shoulders seemed to slouch a bit, and suddenly he appeared incredibly fragile, and small. Small wispy clouds of white breath drifted from his moist lips with every breath he released, and his fingers seemed to shake ever-so-slightly as his sides. Arthur felt the hand that was holding his own grow limp for a moment, and it scared him.

Feeling the need to protect this boy, who was three years older than he was, mind you, Arthur tugged Francis by the hand, bringing him closer. He stared up at him then, straight into his glimmering, half-open eyes. _He looks... _A spark was lit in Arthur's brain then, and something flashed within him, some deep sense of knowing, but then it was gone a moment later, and he couldn't place what it was. "I'm sorry, Francis." He mumbled under his breath. "You can feel brave climbing trees, or...doing whatever you want for all I care! Just...don't get all sad on me, frog!"

The light came back into Francis' eyes then, and he glanced at Arthur with a bitter-sweet smile on his face. He then proceeded to giggle with his little laugh of his, snorting immensely, which, admittedly, amused Arthur quite a bit. After he had gotten that out of his system, he explained, "I don't feel brave because of that. I feel brave because I'm running away...but then again, is it right to feel brave at that, or should I feel cowardice?"

Not waiting for Arthur to respond, he turned towards the tree, letting go of the younger boy's hand. Arthur watched him intently, a look of confusion upon his face, for he truly did not understand what it was that Francis was talking about, but the Frenchman spoke no further. Instead, he reached his hands up, wrapped them around the first, lowest branch, and slowly, clumsily, hauled himself up. It took a couple tries, and he slipped down a bunch, causing Arthur to smirk a bit, but eventually he got up. Once he was perched upon it, he scooted over a bit, and Arthur gracefully ascended the tree, hopping up beside Francis like a squirrel.

The climbed onto the next highest branch after this, not wanting to be too close to the ground, for the lowest branch was not surrounded by many leaves and was in plain sight, and Francis settled with his back against the thickness of the tree's middle, leaving Arthur sitting in front of him on the precipice of the branch.

"Damn it..." He cursed to himself, staring downwards and imagining falling from the tree. It made him dizzy to think about it, and he was forced to look away. He couldn't lay with his back on the branch _this way_, he would end up falling while he was asleep. He needed the solidity of the tree against him to steady himself (and make him feel safe). "I'm going to climb to the next branch up." He told Francis, a grouchy look on his face. "I don't have anything to lay against." With that, Arthur began to stand, readying himself for the climb to the next branch.

Before he could lean up very far, his tiny fingers outstretched for the next branch, he felt two cold hands wrap around his ankles. "Non." Francis babbled up at him, giving him a small tug. "Non...I don't want to sleep by myself, Arthur."

Flustering for some reason, Arthur ground his teeth together, quickly yipping back at his companion, "Well I can't sleep anywhere else! You took the bloody tree base with your arse, and I have nothing to lean against -"

"Lean against me." Francis cut him off. Arthur found his face turning completely red, and he felt his body burning with heat from his embarrassment. That this _boy _would even suggest such a thing was absolutely wretched! Still, the way Francis tilted his head, and tightened his long, soft fingers around Arthur's thin ankles made the little boy pause. "Please..." Francis pleaded, and his blue eyes seemed to glitter with such innocence that Arthur thought stars would weep. "Please..." He said again. "I'm...afraid."

The prospect of fear had never occurred to Arthur. He had ran away many times, and suffered being alone, and in the dark, quite often. Darkness was not a thing to be feared, he was sure of it, and neither was being alone. Still, if he tried to place himself in Francis' skin, he could _feel_ a bit of why he would be afraid. _This is a boy that has grown up, probably with servants and spoiling parents. I doubt he's ever slept alone, been left alone, or even been outside after dark. So, I guess, it makes sense for brats to be afraid of the dark. _He lowered his hands from the branch he had been reaching for, turning to Francis, who loosened his grip on the child's ankles enough for him to do so. "Fine, I will...but only because it's cold." He muttered. Francis' eyes lit up at that, and he beamed. Again, the word 'brat' flashed through Arthur's mind, but then, he suddenly wondered, _But...if he's such a brat, and so spoiled...why did he choose to run away...with __**me**__? _

As he settled between Francis' legs, and leaned against his chest, Arthur's mind was racing. He had never thought of _that _before. He had never realized that, if Francis really did have it made, like his family and he assumed, _why _would he be wasting his time on Arthur? Why would he care? Frowning, Arthur bit into his lower lip. He stared into the distance, past the darkness and foliage of the leaves, and pondered, while Francis' arms came around him and held him there, squeezing him as if he were some doll...

After a moment, Francis' voice whispered in his ear, tickling him, "Hey, Arthur...do you remember when I taught you how to sing that one day, in the forest?" He asked, his tone thick with fresh longing and bitter-sweet happiness.

Smiling in spite of himself, Arthur replied, "I do." For some reason he was finding being in Francis' arms extremely comfortable now...memories played in his mind all of a sudden, and he recalled everything - from singing in the forest with his lovely French companion, to crying that one day, in his arms. He recalled when Allister had punished him, and Francis had ran all the way over, with some strange girl, as if she were his army and he was the commander. He had been ready to fight for Arthur that day. _Why? _"I got in trouble for singing that in French, you know." He mumbled instead, unable to say his thoughts.

"Mhm..." Francis voiced in reply, leaning his face ever-so-slightly against Arthur's shoulder. He seemed exhausted, and already half asleep. He yawned loudly when he spoke again, "Foolish people will try to take away things you love, just because they don't like it or believe in it...always, Arthur." He only seemed to be half-making-sense due to his tired state, but still the logic dully shone through. Arthur flushed cherry red when he felt the brush of Francis' eyelashes against his bare neck, as the older boy closed his eyes. "You must learn to stand up for yourself..." Francis mumbled drowsily, burying his nose into the base of Arthur's neck, and making him stiffen a little bit with surprise. "If you don't fight back, the world will take everything you love...they'll use you...forever..." With that, he fell silent, his breathing grew slow and steady, and Arthur knew he had fallen asleep.

It felt weird to have another male's face buried against him so close, almost _wrong_, and Arthur was sure it had to be wrong somehow, he was positive of it. "Frog..." He hissed quietly, reaching a trembling hand up towards Francis' head. "Get your face away..." He started to say, and was about to push Francis' head backwards, when his fingertips came into contact with something on the boy's neck.

His hand drew back immediately, stilled with confusion. A tremor seemed to wrack his insides suddenly, and it felt as if he were burning up with emotion, and he didn't understand why. Slowly, he brought his hand back to the French boy's neck, laying it delicatley upon what he had felt earlier. It was obviously some kind of wound, but the skin wasn't penetrated, so it was a bit strange. Arthur had no idea what it could be.

He sighed. "Francis..." Not removing his hand from the other's neck, he shifted into a slightly more comfortable position. As if testing to see if Francis was actually awake, he said, "You're an idiot, frog. How'd you get this wound?" No response. He slid his hand down and away from the strange wound on his companion's neck, then rested it on top of his hand. "Goodnight, frog." He mumbled under his breath, quietly so, and his hand closed ever-so-slightly around Francis'. If Arthur had been paying more attention, he would have noticed Francis smiling in his sleep.

XXXX

Auguste was lying in his son's bed. In one hand, he held a whole bottle of wine, and in the other he held tight to an old, dusty journal. The pages were brown and speckled with dust, and the writing was faded, but it was a keepsake, full of secrets and treacheries, and Auguste loved it.

He didn't know where Francis was at the moment - he hadn't come home, and now it was dark - and this angered him. Besides being drunk, he was extremely bored, and he fancied playing around a bit with the child at the moment. _I must not get too angry at him, though. _Auguste told himself, recalling that the last time he had been angry at his son, he had hurt the child. It made him feel sad, to hear Francis cry in such an anguished way. Auguste hadn't prepared him at all, being mad that the child had been down at the Kirkland house. It had seemed like a good idea at the time - ah, yes, he was drunk then - but afterwards he really did regret it. Sex shouldn't be used as a punishment, and Auguste knew it, and if he wanted Francis to come to love what was done to him, he had to be careful what he did.

The first time he had "made love" to Francis, the boy had been five. It was his birthday too, and Charline had left that very morning, saying she had some dying relative to visit. It wasn't really a big deal to the boy - he wasn't very close to Charline, anyways - and Auguste found her absence wondrous. Quite frankly, she annoyed him, and besides that, she hardly ever allowed him to get between her legs. Actually, now a days, he was not permitted to at all. If he so much as looked at her when she was naked, she would chill him to his bones with an icy glare, and say something venomous and dark that would cause him to bow his head in shame. Francis never did such things.

His son was the perfect little receiver; Auguste's own, personal slut, in his mind. Ever since he acquired his bastard son, he was incapable of keeping his hands off him. He wasn't foolish though, he was able to keep it to just hands until his son's fifth name day. There had been a little amount of blood on that day, but still, it was a magical day. _Surely, not just for me. _Auguste thought, a dark smile crossing his lips.

Now, Francis was older, and much more experienced. He could hold in his cries much better, and struggled much less. He knew Auguste's body language by heart, and was always able to inferr what his father wanted him to do. _God how I long for him now! _Auguste clenched his hand around his battered journal, and brought the wine to his lips, drinking in the cheap liquid in large gulps. _How dare the brat go out like this...he's probably whoring himself out in the streets! So, I'm not good enough, huh? _Growling, Auguste chucked the wine bottle away. It landed on the floor with a clang, then rolled out into the hallway. He watched it go with half-opened eyes.

_That little shit... _His mind was angry. He sat up, laying the old journal on the bed-side-table. _I don't __**need**__ him __**here**__. _He assured himself, running his fingers through his greasy, short hair. Auguste knew he could have a fantasy without Francis being present - it was so easy to imagine his boy, ashamed and blushing in front of the bed, slowly allowing his tunic to slide off his pale shoulders and tumble to the floor around his ankles... It wasn't the same. He wasn't _there_. _I want him __**here**__. _And somehow, deep inside his being, past all his longing and resentment, Auguste _knew _that it was the Kirkland family's fault. It had to be. _They're stealing him from me. They're taking my son, my precious light, away from me! _His heart seemed to twist inside, coiling into a furious blazing flame of hatred, and old memories, and Auguste shut his eyes in an attempt to block them out. They would pay.

XXXX

Inside the Kirkland house, the world was dark. Everything was quiet, with the exception of one room. In one room, someone was gasping. In one room, someone was crying.

_It's so dark...and this sin hurts..._


	8. Chapter 8

**Dormez-vous? ****Chapter 8**

A blue rose drifted in the wind, having snapped from its luscious stem. It spun around in the air, spreading its lovely, unique scent throughout the world. Drops of dew glistened like tiny diamonds upon each petal, spinning off into the world each time the wind rocked the frail-looking flower too hard. A single petal was torn from the rose, and it fluttered off into oblivion, while the rest of the whole rose traveled weightlessly in the wind, towards the top of a mountain where a little figure stood.

At the very edge of the mountain, toes hanging over the cliff edge, Francis stood, watching the fabled rose as the wind carried it. His hands stretched out as far as they would go, and his lips parted ever so slightly, "Please...please..." He whispered, his voice melting like sugar when it hit the wind. The rose seemed to come nearer at the sound of his voice, as if it alone could hear him, and Francis began to smile, hope sparkling in his bright blue eyes.

It was almost in his hands now. Francis' toes gripped the edge of the cliff tighter, and he spread his fingers longingly. The blue rose of legend floated languidly over, hovering just above Francis' open palms, and then it began to lower...

"FRANCIS!" A voice thundered, and large hands suddenly were upon the boys back, shoving him harshly off the mountain, and into the open air. Francis had just enough time to look over his shoulders to see that his assaulter was his own father. No surprise.

Tears budded, clear and pure in his eyes, as gravity jerked him downwards. Francis' jaws pried open in shock; above his head he saw the blue flower dancing, taunting him with it's grace and unobtainibility. A cry escaped his lips as he felt the ground nearing; it was a cry directed at his father, a cry directed at the flower, "Pourquoi?" He whimpered, the wind rushing past him intensely, and then he smashed into the ground.

"Gah!" Francis jolted awake. He was back upon the tree where he had fallen asleep with Arthur last night. Surprisingly, it was no longer cold, and now the fresh sunlight was pouring through the canopy of leaves above him and warming his skin. "Ah..." He gasped, his shoulder shaking ever so slightly with a twinge of fear. He shuddered, shaking the dream from his brain. _Blue roses do not exist. _He told himself. _But never mind that...where's Arthur?_

Indeed, the Kirkland boy was no where to be seen. Francis had woken up alone on the tree branch. _Perhaps he decided to go home..? _He wondered to himself for a moment, foot tapping the tree pensively, but upon remembering Arthur's determination last night, and how unphased he was by it all, Francis decided that was unlikely.

Sighing, he swung his legs over the edge of the branch. His back and neck felt awkward and stiff from sleeping against the tree's base, but Francis forced himself to ignore it - he would complain to Arthur about it later - and he jumped down from the brach, aiming for the next lower one. It was a stupid thing to do, for he missed it by a long shot, and ended up falling straight down into the dirt, and ruining his clothes at that. "Damn it!" He cursed, trying futivley to dust himself off, but it would not account for the tears and stains that littered his once pretty tunic.

Making an obvious pouting face, Francis began to look around him. He head felt a bit dizzy from the fall, and he wasn't in the best mood either. "Arthur!" He called loudly, opening his mouth wide as a yawn overtook him soon after. Once he had finished, he resumed his yelling, "Arthur! Arthur, where'd you go? Arthur!" When no answer came, Francis bit into his lower lip. He felt useless - unpuroseful and disposable - and angrily he stomped over to the tree and sat down at the roots. Birds chirped around him merrily, but he crossed his arms over his knees and buried his nose into him. "I'm going to die here..." He murmured, and then he began to sulk.

After what seemed like a long time of sulking, the bushes rusted in front of him, and Francis slowly raised his head to the noise. Arthur emerged from within them, his face stained with purple, and his hands full of plump, ripe, berries. "Hey," He said coolly. "I brought breakfast for you." After a moment he added, a sneer upon his face. "You sleep like a log."

For a moment, Francis was tempted to leap to his feet, and scream at the younger boy. Why, he couldn't quite say, but he just felt such feelings of _malice _at the moment. However, though he did rise to his feet quickly, he recognized yelling would be the absolute worst thing he could do to Arthur, only second to hitting him, and he forced himself to remain calm. Arthur looked at him strangely, his forehead creased and eyebrows furrowed with either confusion or worry, and Francis didn't look at him for a while. When he did finally look at him, after his feelings had cooled, Francis gave him a wide smile. "Well, I hope the berries aren't poison!" He laughed.

"Hah! Idiot!" Arthur snorted in response, scampering forwards. "Why would _I _pick poisonous ones?"

They sat down together to eat, leaning side-by-side against each other and munching the juicy berries slowly. They were quite delicious things, that seemed to burst with flavor within one's mouth, and Francis devoured them greedily. Arthur ate them enthusiastically as well, but less so than his companion, being that he had already ate some during his venture into the forest. After they were done, and Francis had held Arthur down and wiped the berry juice from his face (he claimed it was annoying him, so he licked his thumb and "cleaned" it off with his saliva), the two sat in a comfortable silence. Finally, Francis asked, "Where are we going to, Arthur?"

Smiling, for he seemed to like having control of Francis' fate, Arthur nestled his cheek against his friend's shoulder and replied. "There's a town up ahead. We can stay there for a few days..." He trailed off, his green eyes flashing, and then he added, "We're going to run _far_ away from everyone, and then we'll become great nobles...and they'll regret ever have hurting us..." then, as if remembering something, he sat up straight, tilting his head into Francis' view and staring.

"What?" Francis asked, lips twitching with amusement. _What's he doing...? _

Letting out a small cough, Arthur cleared his throat. "Oh, also..." He started, flustering slightly when he spoke, and looking away for a moment. When he pulled his gaze from the ground and looked back up, Francis realized his eyes kept flickering towards his neck. Suddenly, he felt exposed. "What's that wound on your neck?" Arthur asked. "Does it hurt?" He continued, making the sense of dread fill Francis even more. "I can probably-"

"It's fine!" Francis blurted in response, his hand shooting up to cover the hickey he had acquired yesterday from his father. Red covered his face from ear to ear, and his chest rose up and down rapidly. He shut his eyes. _Calm down...calm down...calm down... _But when his eyes were closed, images of blue roses and sheer cliffs flashed before him.

"Francis...?" Arthur's voice came out small and soft - a mouse's squeak - and his tiny hand brushed against Francis' arm delicately. "Are you OK?"

_Calm...calm...calm...think of Jeanne..._ For some reason, the imagery of the young girl's thin body and sharp cerulean eyes calmed Francis down. He remembered her disapproving face, her angry little lips pressed together, and her wooden sword, which she loved to jab into the air and threaten him with. _I'm leaving her behind. _He thought sadly, feeling selfish that this was the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Still, thinking of her made him calm again, and when he reopened his eyes, he was smiling. "I'm so sorry, Arthur." He murmured, removing his hand from his neck and catching his hair in his finger instead. "I'm fine." He told the smaller boy. "Now, let's get on with our journey."

"Hmf. Stupid frog." Arthur grumbled in response, but he was smiling too.

XXXX

A cruel hand twisted it's fingers into his hair, dragging him along the hallway without mercy. Dylan was sobbing as his father jerked him along by his lovely blonde hair, and from the kitchen, Allister could hear him crying. Dropping his cleaning rag and dirty plate into the sink, the oldest of the Kirklands turned and walked straight towards the source of the noise. He came face-to-face with his father, and pathetic-looking brother, where the hallway met the kitchen.

"What has he done now?" Allister asked icily, his expression not changing one bit when his cool, green eyes flashed over to Dylan's tear-soaked, bruised face. Why his father liked to hit Dylan in the face, Allister would never know.

Grunting, as if the mere sight of his eldest annoyed him, pa replied with a growl, "Brat was snooping around in the hall...trying to steal from me or something!" His words came out slurred when he spoke, and it was obvious he was drunk, even though it was early in the morning. Allister figured he must have been drinking last night. His father gave Dylan's head a shake. "He needs to be taught a lesson...he keeps forgetting who the _man _of this house is!"

"Quite..." Was all Allister grumbled in response. He stepped forwards to his father, and then, before the man could react, he shot his hand forwards and ripped the man's hand out of Dylan's hair. The boy stood there stupidly gaping at him for a moment before scampering past him and running into the kitchen, whimpering as he did so. "You have nothing justified to-"

_Slap!_

Allister's whole head was thrown sideways from the blow. It felt as if his right cheek was aflame, but he did not even flinch, or cry out. He just turned his head back towards his pa, and glared at him with unfeeling eyes of green ice. A great, red hand print began to appear where he had been struck, and his face throbbed ever so slightly. His father's eyes were narrowed slits of fury. "How _dare_ you." The man snarled, the scent of booze wafting from the inside of his rotten, soiled mouth. Dylan made a whining noise from somewhere behind them as their father proceeded to reach forwards and wrap his fingers tight around Allister's throat. "Do you think you have authority here, brat? You think you're strong enough to win against me?"

For a moment, Allister didn't say a word. He let his head fall to the side a bit, lost in thought and contemplation. His mind flickered to Dylan, who he knew was cowering behind him. _If Pa doesn't take his damn anger out...Dylan is going to be a bloodied mess by the end of this day. How unfortunate. _He straightened up again, pretending the hand on his throat was not there, and he locked his eyes with his fathers - blue upon green, hate upon hate - and laughed dryly, "Ha, I don't think you'd be all that hard to best, old man. All I would have to do would be to get you extremely drunk, then fetch myself a large branch from outside..." he trailed off at that, a sick sneer playing upon his lips. "I could club you into red mush easily."

That did it for his pa. The man's mouth twisted into a horrid look of furiosity and shock at what his son had said, and with a quick movement, he slammed Allister's head into the wall. Allister didn't move, he let his face be smashed. Hot, thick blood trickled from his nose and a cut on his lip, and he shut his eyes with acceptance.

"Stupid, ungrateful, bastard of a child!" His father howled, grabbing the collar of his shirt and dragging him through the kitchen. Blood dripped from Allister's face as he was dragged, and landed in little, scarlet droplets upon the tile floor. "I'll show you what for!" Pa thundered loudly.

"N-no..." A quiet squeak came from the corner of the room, and Allister's eyes fluttered open to meet Dylan's. The boy was standing by the counter, trembling, his eyes flickering back and forth towards a rusty knife that lay in the sink. His hands quivered as he weighed the thought of murder, Allister could see it. "D-don't h-hurt h-him, P-pa." He stammered, too quiet for the man to hear.

Allister hardly moved as he was thrown over the couch like a child, his head swimming with ache. Glancing back at Dylan, he snarled, "Have some dignity, boy. Get the _hell _out of here. Go to Eily." He spat out a chunk of phlegm and blood after he said that, not caring that it would stain the carpet, and not caring that he would have to clean it up later. He could already hear the slow, clumsy noise of his father undoing his belt behind him. "Get the _hell out of here_, Dylan!" He snapped at his younger brother.

There was hesitance in Dylan's eyes, and Allister knew he was thinking of their law. _Never leave anyone alone with Pa_. He thought bitterly. _But this is different because this is __**me**__ and I don't matter. _

"Y-yes, A-Allister." Dylan finally nodded in response, and he dashed out the front door, letting it slam shut behind him. Relieved at that, Allister let out a sigh. His sibling - no, his children - were safe. Dylan was gone, out of harms way, and Eily was out in the marketplace selling some of the excess vegetables they had grown. He didn't know where Arthur was - the brat likely ran away again - but he was safe, either way. Now all that was left was for Allister to take whatever punishment came his way, and then that was that. His pa would loose his violence, and no one would have to worry.

The first blow came like an explosion of sharp fire against Allister's backside, causing him to yelp in reaction to the pain. "Don't think this is all you're getting, either!" His father hollered as he continued to beat him. With each strike the fury inside him seemed to grow, and each strike became harder, and Allister was soon shaking and in tears. After a while, his father paused, his countenance unreadable. His chalky blue eyes scoured his son's face, which was dripping tears, snot, and blood. He then hit him again, as hard as he could, growling, "You're _so_ pathetic."

XXXX

When Francis first entered the town, he was mesmerized. It was a larger town than the one Arthur and he lived in, and much, much dirtier, full of trash and bad-smelling things. The people here all seemed to be rather poor, which was a strange thing for him to behold, and along with that, there was a rather large pub, right next to what Francis assumed to be a hotel; many men were staggering into it after getting wasted, clinging to the arms of pretty ladies in strange clothing.

Enthralled, he exclaimed to his companion, "This place is just amazing!" He giggled at that, twirling around a bit so his tunic waved about, and then he reached down to grab Arthur's hand.

The latter jerked his hand out of the way. "Don't hold my hand here, idiot." He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest unhappily. Francis didn't see what the big deal was, but he made no further attempt to hold his little friend's hand.

After a while of walking, Francis began to get bored. Sure, there were interesting sights to see, and many grime-covered merchants selling crusty bread and small squirrels, but it started to get old. He began whining, and fidgeting about, scuffling his shoes in the dirt as they walked. "Ar_thur_." He moaned. "What are we going to _do_ here?"

"Get provisions, so our journey will last longer." Arthur said without hesitation. He glanced up at Francis, as if thoroughly annoyed with him. "I'm going to go near the pub, and beg. You probably suck at acting pathetic and hungry, being a rich boy and all, so why don't you go sit in some murky alley corner?"

Francis flicked his companion between the eyes. "Fine." He scoffed, folding his arms against his chest unhappily. "I'll _go_ sit in some dark alley, and beg from there, and you'll see how cute and needy I can really be!"

"Whatever." Arthur snorted in response, and the two went their separate ways, Arthur going to sit against the wall of the pub, and Francis going to stand in an alleyway. He decided he didn't want to sit down; he would get his tunic more messed up than it already was that way.

Time passed. No one seemed to notice the long haired blonde boy who stood in the shadows of the alleys, and whenever he outstretched his hands and made sorrowful pouting faces, people only laughed at him. Eventually, he gave up and just leaned against the alley wall. Arthur, on the other hand, seemed to be getting good business. From where Francis could see, the boy had already tempted a few coins out of some of the ragged men walking about, and one sympathetic lady gave him half a loaf of bread. Sighing with irritation, Francis tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Merde..." He murmured, weariness overtaking him. Maybe he could rest awhile here, while Arthur did what he was doing and got them bread...

"Well, well, well," A voice suddenly said. "Would you look at this _fine _creature."

Head snapping upright, and eyes flying open, Francis whirled to see who had spoken. He came face-to-face with another boy, who was perhaps, _too _close to him, for their noses touched when Francis turned, causing him to flinch. He was quite a strange sight to behold: a white haired, red eyed beast of a boy, covered in garbage and...bird feathers. He was grinning widely, and Francis noticed that he had a companion with him - a shorter, dark hair and eyed boy - who stood smiling pleasantly behind him.

Francis cleared his throat in preparation to speak, but the white-haired boy silenced him by putting a finger to his lips. "Now, now, now, dear, this is no time for talking. Why don't you just come home with Gilbert, and I'll make sure you're fed and cared for for the rest of your life." He had a strange accent when he spoke, and his shoulders seemed to constantly be shaking with either smug laughter or devious glee. Smirking, he reached one pale hand out, and ran it across Francis' face, then down to his neck, where he traced the hickey that had been left there by Francis' father. "Awh, poor little lovely...so new to the street's aren't you?"

Pressing himself against the wall in confusion, Francis swatted the stranger - the Gilbert's - hand away from him. "W-what are you d-doing?" He stuttered, flustering with both fear and embarrassment. "Get the heck away from me, you queer!"

The dark boy behind Gilbert giggled at that, tapping his fingers together merrily. "They're so _cute _when they resist!" He chirped. "Oh, please, let's keep this one!"

"We'll see, Antonio..." Gilbert chuckled in response, coming even closer to Francis. He smelled of beer, and animals - birds, mainly - and the nearer he came the more Francis wished he could just melt away into the wall. Gilbert did not seem to notice this, and soon he was practically laying on top of Francis, chortling and running his hands over the other boy's chest. His mouth neared Francis' own, and a sneer was plastered on his pallid, white lips. "You're so beautiful...but so _flat_. When do you think you're going to hit puberty, hm?"

It was then when something clicked in Francis mind. _Wait a second...does he... _

"Kesesesese..." The boy squealed his strange laugh. "You're so cute when you blush like that! Come home with me! Come home with me and be mine!" His lips then crashed against Francis' own, and his fingers twisted themselves into his silky blonde hair.

_Merde! Merde! Merde! Merde! _Francis shoved against the one called Gilbert's chest, attempting futivley to shove him off of him. "Y-you stupid-" He gasped, but them his lips were locked against the other's again. Jerking his head away once more he yowled, "Get off, I'm-" But once again he was silenced by a kiss. Finally, he bit the other boy's lip, causing him to squeak in pain and pull back. Once he was away, Francis practically screamed in his face, "I'm a _guy _you dumb ass!"

Silence befell them all for a moment. Francis straightened up so that he was no longer pressed against the wall, his shoulders heaving up and down, and his forehead wet with perspiration. Gilbert's mouth was agape, with his hand covering it, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. Antonio was standing there with a blank expression on his face, though he looked like he was about to burst into laughter at any moment. After a bit, Gilbert asked, "Um...are you sure?" his face completely red.

Gritting his teeth together, Francis replied, "I think I _know _what my own sex is! I'm a _boy_. B-O-Y." His fist clenched at his sides, and his head swung from side to side as he tried to see if anyone had noticed them. No one seemed to be looking.

"Oh." Gilbert simply said, looking so embarrassed he could die. He kicked his shoe into the dirt for a bit, staring at the dust as it rose into the air. Antonio started snickering. "Well...you look like a girl!" The white-haired one said after a while. "You should cut your dumb hair!...shut up, Antonio!" The other boy did not heed to Gilbert's threat and ended up getting socked in the shoulder. He still kept laughing.

Feeling awkward, Francis turned his head, choosing to stare at his feet. "Besides, you should get to know someone before you start getting all touchy and kissy on them, whoreson." He crossed his arms bitterly, and bit into his lower lip to stop it from trembling. Admittedly, he had been slightly afraid.

"Whoreson? _Me_?" Gilbert practically snarled at him. "_You're_ the one with a hickey on your neck...the size of a grown man's mouth!" Laughing wickedly, the boy leaned against the opposite wall of the alley, red eyes glistening like demonic rubies. "You're no different from any young slut around here...you're just male, that's all, but, I bet they like you looking all feminine like that, so you keep your hair long and pretty."

It was then that Francis snapped. All the fury he had borne that morning came rushing back to him, along with a blaze of new hateful emotions. "I. AM NOT. A SLUT!" He screeched, throwing himself forwards and pummeling Gilbert with his fists. The latter didn't have much time to react, so at first he took to defending, raising his hands meekly and trying to block the blows. Francis rained down punches upon him, as hard as he could, and each time he struck it felt as if some of his inner pain left when his fist connected with flesh.

"A-Antonio!" Gilbert cried out. Francis didn't have much time to hit anymore, for soon two strong arms looped around his neck and pulled him backwards. Antonio then trapped his wrists behind his back so he couldn't fight, giving Gilbert time to recover from the small attack. "Y-you little _brat!_" The albino hissed rabidly, dusting himself off and raising his fist. Hot water seemed to be boiling inside the boy's eyes. "I'll show you!" He spat, and Francis whined in response, finding it so undignified that he could not fight back. "You little boy wh-!"

"Hey...stop that!" A small voice squeaked, stopping everyone where they stood. Francis cast his eyes to the side, catching sight of someone he dreaded, yet desired seeing in this situation: Arthur. The little boy had been holding a small, brown sack over his shoulder, but he dropped it upon the sight of the squabbling trio. "Let him go!" He snapped angrily, small hands balling into fists. "Leave Francis alone!"

Strangely, Antonio's grip loosened at that. He tilted his head to the side slightly, giving Arthur a sympathetic stare, then he looked back at Gilbert. Doing the same, Gilbert gave him back a hard, stony glare, but then he looked at Arthur and he lowered his fist. "Are you really going to wuss out just because a little boy is here?" Gilbert asked his friend with a half-hearted growl.

"Come on, Gil," Antonio sighed, releasing Francis' wrists completely. His dark, greenish-brown eyes glinted through the darkness of the alleyway, and he straightened up quite nobly. "Would you want someone to emasculate you in front of Ludwig? Because I sure wouldn't want Lovi or Feli have to see me get beaten up by a pair of thugs."

Muttering, Gilbert silently thought about what Antonio had to say. Finally, he growled, "Whatever." and turned away from them, crossing his arms against his chest grumpily. For a second, Francis thought he was going to storm off and leave, but then he spun back around, a wide, gaping grin upon his face, and all remnants of bad feelings gone. "So, what brings you two here, into the realm of the awesome Gilbert and his clan?"

Confused, Francis stumbled backwards. He cast Arthur a look full of worry, and the younger child returned to him a look of fear. After a second, Francis reached down and closed his hand over Arthur's. The Englishman was shaking ever-so-slightly, and he didn't protest one bit. "We're running away." Francis said bluntly. "We decided to stop by this town for provisions." Arthur nodded at this, and, remembering his sack of earning from today, he reached down and picked it up, slinging it over his shoulder.

Gilbert smiled at them in a friendly manner. "How much did you get?" He asked Arthur, and then, not giving the boy much time to respond, he added, "Did you beg for it like a good little puppy? Kesesesese! I'm just kidding!" He laughed to himself for a while, slapping his knee as if he had said the most hilarious joke in the world. When he calmed, he gave Francis a cold sneer. "Well, I don't see where you aim to go. Past this town, there's a big stretch of forest. Survive that, and you'll get into some _crowded _cities. Ain't much to run away to - and then again - what are you going to do for the rest of your sorry lives? It's not like you can be _nobles _or anything like that. You'll remain homeless waifs."

The pair cast Gilbert cold glares in response. Neither of them really had an answer for him. They didn't know _where _they were going, or how they were going to survive, they just knew that had to run. _I'm tired of being treated like... _Francis ground his teeth together. _I'm tried of P__ère __**using**__ me._

"You really don't know anything." It was Arthur who had spoken. His pudgy face was red with heat, and his eyebrows slanted with mistrust and annoyance. "We don't _need_ stupid cities and stupid _gangs _like you. Whenever we're older, there will be no need for us to come here; we'll be _strong." _He chuckled at Gilbert and Antonio then, as if they were animals amongst superior beings. When he continued, there was conviction in his voice, "Francis and I are going to move out into the middle of the forest, far away from all the rest of society, so far away that no one will notice we're gone. We'll build our own house, catch our own food, do _everything _ourselves...and we will live like princes." Francis flustered at this, feeling a strange, fluttery feeling inside for the fast that he was being included in Arthur's fantasy. He looked away to hide his blush from the others.

Shaking his head, Gilbert giggled away Arthur's words. It was obvious that he didn't believe a word of them. "Ah, whatever you say," He grunted, "but, back to the _present_. You don't have a place to stay tonight, so you'd best come with us." He smirked at them whenever they recoiled away, and Arthur's face scrunched up with suspicion. "I mean, unless you'd like to sell yourself for a bed tonight, blondie."

The jab was directed at Francis, and he knew it. His face turned completely red. _I will punch you out again, sweetheart. _He thought sarcastically, his hand twitching at his side. _This time I'll fix that damn broken jaw of your's, seeing your mouth can't seem to close. _Instead he looked over at Antonio - he trusted that boy much more than his albino friend - giving him an inquiring look. Antonio nodded and smiled back, so Francis decided to take a leap of faith. "Fine." He grumbled. "We will stay at your house-"

"We will bloody _not_!" Arthur cut in, tugging on Francis' hand sharply. "If you think for one moment that I'm going to risk my throat, sleeping with these filthy hooligans-"

"I'm not thinking, I'm _telling_!" Francis snapped at him, not thinking before he did. Arthur flinched away, his hand detangling itself from Francis'. Shock swam within his emerald eyes, and fear and hurt welled up in tiny, glistening tears. Francis felt awful, and he dropped to his knees right there in front of Gilbert and Antonio - he could care less what the two thugs thought of him - and wrapped his arms around Arthur. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for yelling..." He pleaded into the little boy's ear, tugging him close and hugging him to his chest fully. "I would never hurt you, I promise! I'm not like _them! _I will never be like them, please forgive me..." By 'them', he was referring to Arthur's family: Allister, his father, and anyone else who had ever laid a hand upon the child. Arthur caught the lift, nodding silently into the fabric of Francis' clothing. After a while, Francis let him go. "We don't have to stay if you don't want-" He began.

"S-shut up." Arthur told him, smacking him upon the nose lightly. "We'll stay. Now stand up." Francis beamed lightly and got to his feet.

The other two were staring at him, but they didn't make any jibes, or say anything about the little scene they had just witnessed. In fact, they were both _smiling_, a dreamy look in both of their eyes, their bodies relaxed and languid, happy. "Well, you better follow us." Antonio said, the words running from his mouth like a stream of sweetness. "Gil and I will take you to our lovely house, and maybe we can spare some provisions for you and the boy," He smiled at that. "You _do _have such a great journey ahead of you."

XXXX

The battered journal lay open in Auguste's lap. He stared at the pages - the soft, brown paper, and slightly torn edges - and remembered when he had been young, when he had written in the thing. The writing was faded now, but he could still read the scrawls. It made him smile with old longing as he did so, his hands itching to write more...but there was nothing to write, and the journal was full.

Sighing, he flipped the pages. _How foolish I was when I was young... _He thought to himself, chuckling ever so slightly. He remembered when he'd gotten the journal - he had been a boy of 14, no less - and his mother had bought it for him on his birthday. _'Do something useful with your life' She said to me. _Auguste scoffed at that, turning another page. _What did she expect me to do? Become a god damned philosopher?_

When he turned the page again, he paused. He remembered the entry there - well, he had forgotten it, but rereading it made it slowly drift back into his mind - and his tongue swiped over his mouth as he began to reread it. _I'll read it aloud. _He snorted. _It's not like anyone is here to hear... _And for a moment his thoughts drifted back to Francis, but then he growled and smacked his hand upon his knee, and forced the thoughts from his mind. _I'll worry about finding that brat __**later**__. _He told himself, and then he began to read,

"It is the middle of July. The sun beats down upon us affectionately, and many beautiful flowers have sprouted in our garden. Father says I must learn to be a gentleman - I am to wed the lovely lady Charline, and all her riches - but, in reality, I don't _want _to be a gentleman, and I don't _want _to marry this strange, solemn-faced girl.

"We met today. She never smiled, not once, not even when I kissed her hand and called her 'm'lady'. This girl I am doomed to wed...she is nothing to me but coins. Her family is richer than mine, but our union will see to make both of our families more prosperous, so we must marry. I hate her though, really I do.

"I asked her if she loved me. She said, 'Not particularly". Why would she _say _such a thing? I was furious, and I threw the tea kettle at her head. It missed, lucky for me. If I would have damaged her perfect skull, I would have been flayed alive. Father still gave me quite a beating though. He is foolish. One day, I will rule the household, and then he will be on the streets. Everyone...I will dominate them all.

"It really isn't fair. My stupid, _wretched, awful _little brother gets to wed the most precious thing. And he's a sickling! I don't even think he'll live long enough to bed her! But that's ok - if he dies, maybe I can convince father to let her become mine... She is so beautiful though, this little dove. Sure, her family is not as rich as Charline's, but she makes up for it with her sweetness. She found me crying in the garden, after my beating was over, and she came over and sat beside me...and ran her fingers through my hair... She said she was awfully sorry that I had gotten hit...and she even picked me a flower. A pretty, red rose.

"It is such a sad thing, her and I. I asked if she loved my brother, and, unhesitating, she replied in the affirmative. I know she must be uncertain though, for her eyes told me she loved _me_. Even if she does not love me, she will love me one day. She _cares _about me, I know it. She's the _only _person who loves me.

"...with hair like soft sunlight hitting the pavement, and eyes like two light blue diamonds shining softly within the depths of a dark cave. She speaks as soft as an angel, and moves as gracefully as a swan. She seems fragile, yes, but her body is as sturdy as a boulder; she is my _true love_. She is my goddess,

"and one day she will be mine. Whether she wants it or not."

Smiling, Auguste finished reading the entry. His eyes twinkled deviously now, and he giggled, relishing his younger self. _Oh true love, how sweet you are. _He laughed, curling in upon himself with a choked sob. _How bitter you are, how __**ugly**__ you are. How..._

_...god damn it Francis, come back to me. _

XXXX

Sweat and blood seemed to coat Allister's whole body. He could barely move, he hurt so damned bad. His eyes were throbbing, swollen red underneath them from tears, and his hands shook when he tried to move. The insinsitivity of his siblings seemed to sting him even more than anything else. Not that he had unlocked the door to let them see him...but still, Eily had come knocking, and asked why he was pouting over nothing but a beating. He told her pa had beat him especially bad, but her only response was, "Life's tough, brother. Get off your arse and come help me with dinner." Allister had cussed at her and told her to leave him alone.

_I don't need them anyways. _He told himself resentfully. _They don't care about me. Nobody cares about me. I do __**everything**__ for them, and they don't care one bit about me. _Furious, his hand clutched the bedsheets even tighter. He was inside his room - the room he shared with Dylan - and he had locked and barricaded the door with a small rocking chair. His body hurt all over...there was still places where he was bleeding, and he noticed that his blanket was soaked with red stains. _Fucking pa... _He thought, hateful.

Biting his lip, Allister rose into a sitting position. It hurt as he did so, and he became even angrier at that, digging his nails into his wrist to punish himself for feeling such stupid pain, and doing such stupid things.

When he stood up, scarlet ran down his legs in rivulets, spattering onto the floor. More tears burst out of his eyes and slipped down his filthy cheeks, cleansing a single spots. His hands had large, swollen bruises upon them, and his fingers would not bend properly. He staggered as he made his way to the door, his ankles battered and coated with purple skin as well.

Arriving at the door, he awkwardly jerked the rocking chair away, feeling his fury multiply as it resisted, and throwing it across the room when it gave. Next, he unlocked the door.

He staggered down the hallway clumsily, slamming into the walls as he did so. He could smell dinner- he could almost _taste _it upon his tongue - and for some reason he was _so _hungry. "Gah..." Allister let out a low moan of pain as he walked into the kitchen.

Eily, Dylan, and Pa were all sitting at the dinner table. Eily had cooked up some rabbit, which they were eating with some other kind of cooked vegetable...Eily had apparently traded something for butter in town today, for Allister saw the lovely, fattening yellow stuff sitting in the middle of the table. Licking his split lip, he wandered towards them, outstretching his hands towards the food. When Eily finally looked up, all the color left her face. Her eyes grew huge and her mouth fell open. Dylan looked away automatically, covering his eyes, and letting out a cry of discontent. Pa was less merciful.

"Did I tell you you could come out of your room?" He thundered, apparently angry still, at his eldest. His face flushed a shade red for a moment, and a big, blue vein in his neck bulged. "Why the hell are you out here?"

_He hasn't hurt...them... _"I'm _hungry_." Allister rasped in reply, ashamed at himself when he felt another tear trickle down his hot face. Dylan's shoulders began to shake, and Eily glanced at Pa, in vain, fear for her brother swimming in her gaze.

"I don't give a shit if you're hungry or not. Get out of my sight!" Pa commanded in response, pointing an angry finger towards the hall.

Reluctantly, Allister turned and started to leave. It didn't matter, he supposed, whether he got to eat or not. It didn't matter if he lived or died, or married or didn't, nothing mattered. Nothing at all. All that mattered was that he stayed the cruel one, he stayed the antagonist, he stayed the secret, he stayed the protector.

"A-Allister..!" Eily stammered suddenly, as she watched her brother turn into the hall. She had tears in her eyes - remorseful, guilty tears - whenever Allister looked back at her.

"Life's tough, ain't it, sister?" He said to her, chuckling. His father yelled something at him them, and threw something - maybe a fork? - at his head. Allister did not hear a word of it as he stumbled and crashed down the hall, back into his room, and then collapsed onto his bed. Before he passed out, his hands slid beneath his clothing, and he repeatedly traced the word he had carved upon his body - that imperfect, evil word - _fag...fag...fag... _Allister closed his eyes, his hand balling into a fist on top of his lovely carving. "You will burn." He told himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Dormez-vous? ****Chapter 9  
**

It slowly began to get dark as they wandered though the perilous twists and turns of the town's alleyways. Francis kept a tight hold on Arthur's hand during the whole time, with the coverup that it was to 'keep him safe', although they both knew it was because Francis was deathly afraid of the dark. When the sun descended out of sight fully, and Francis had been reduced into a trembling and nervous wreck, Gilbert finally turned and flashed them a smile, saying, "It's just up ahead." The pair nodded, not caring to be cautious anymore, only caring to be able to lay down somewhere and rest.

Soon enough, the children stumbled out of the alleyways, and ended up in front of a rather run-down, deserted shack. It wasn't very near to any other houses, and the few houses scattered around it looked unoccupied as well. "Well," Gilbert announced loudly as they arrived, clapping his hands together merrilly. "this is our place!"

_You've got to be kidding me... _Francis stared at the broken shutters, the glass-devoid windows, and the chipped, creaky edges of the place these children called home. He forced himself not to make a face at it; it reminded him of a murderer's house from a novel. Giving Arthur's hand a little squeeze, he said, "Well...let us go inside, I suppose?" Antonio and Gilbert were already scampering their way up the two, dust steps towards the door. Suddenly, Francis remembered something, "Oh! Is it okay with your parents, if we stay here?" He asked hurriedly, flustering with embarrassment for not inquiring about it earlier.

Pausing, both the boys turned to look down upon him. Their eyes glittered for a brief moment, with both a mixture of sorrow and laughter, and bitter smiled twitched upon their lips. "We don't have parents." Antonio said simply. "Gilbert's are dead. My brothers and I, like you, ran away." With that, the dark-haired boy pulled open the tall, scratched door, and raced inside. Gilbert gave Francis a cold sneer before following his friend. Not wasting another moment, new run-aways followed.

Almost as soon as they entered, screaming ensued.

"Oh Feli, Lovi, I'm ba-"

"YOU STUPID, GIGANTIC, SMELLY OAF! WHO THE HELL ARE THEY? WHY DID YOU BRING _THEM_? I'M HUNGRY, YOU BASTARD!"

"Brother, please don't yell-"

"SHUT UP! HE LOVES THESE NEW PEOPLE BETTER! HE'S GOING TO THROW US AWAY, DON'T YOU SEE? BASTARD! BASTARD! BASTAAAAAARD!"

The incredulously loud voice belonged to a young boy, perhaps three years Arthur's junior. His face was bright red with rage - as red as a ripe fruit - and his tiny hands were balled into ready fists. "I HATE YOU!" He yowled vehemently, pounding his small fists upon Antonio's legs. His large, golden-brown eyes were glistening with wet tears, and it was obvious that he actually thought his older brother meant to abandon him. "I HATE YOU!" He screeched again.

This whole time, Arthur had taken to shrinking into the shadows with his hands over his ears. He flinched every time a yell erupted from the little boy's mouth, and shut his eyes after a while of hearing it. Francis looked at him pityingly, and then back at Antonio, "Hey," He called quietly, hoping that the boy would do something to stop the noise. Antonio seemed to be trying to speak soothing words, but it wasn't working, as the child kept on wailing. Francis glanced at Gilbert for help, but the albino only made a whistling noise and looked away. Finally, it was enough. "Move out of the way!" He snapped at Antonio, shoving him away from his brother. "You don't know how to do anything!"

"But, Lovino is-!"

"DON'T SPEAK TO ME, BASTARD!"

Exhaling a sigh, Francis knelt so that he was at Lovino's height, and stared the child straight into his creamy gold-brown eyes. Lovino seemed a bit uncomfortable, and took a step back, his face lighting up so that it was even redder than before. "W-what do you want?" He snapped. "Stay away from me...YOU'RE STEALING ANTONIO!" Tears inched away from his eyes then, streaking down his chubby face.

"I'm not stealing him." Francis said with a gentle smile. "Me and Arthur will only bother you guys for a night, alright? We only needed a place to stay, and then we're going to leave." That said, he remained upon the ground, waiting for the boy's response.

At first, Lovino gave him a look of complete disgust and suspicion. His eyebrows raised testingly, and his eyes bulged as he leaned forwards, as if he were trying to peer into Francis' soul. "Hmf..." He grumbled, after decided there was nothing he could see. He reached his hand up and scrubbed the tears from his eyes. "'kay." He muttered, backing away from Francis a little bit. Lovino finished wiping any obscenities from his face then, and stepped back forwards, as if to prove he was in no way intimidated by the new arrival. "You're like some sort of big brother, or something." He stated.

A chill ran through Francis' body at that. He didn't even deny it. _Big brother Francis... _He thought ponderously, rising from his feet with a queer look upon his face. His smile seemed to be lopsided upon his face, but no one noticed. Images flashed through his mind then: Francis running through a field of wheat with Arthur at his side, laughing. Francis with his head buried in Arthur's shoulder, sleeping in the same bed as him. Francis standing in front of Arthur bravely, protecting him... Shaking his head, Francis' smile fell. He gave a snort of discontent. _That could never be. _He thought to himself bitterly, _Because...my feelings for Arthur... _but he could not even finish his own thoughts; it was too scary to do so.

"Wait a second..." Gilbert suddenly took a step forwards, so that he was standing right in front of one of the children - it wasn't Lovino, although they looked very similar - and he placed his hands upon his hips demandingly. "Feliciano." He began scoldingly. "Where is Ludwig?"

Blushing slightly, the young boy murmured, "I-I'm not supposed to tell..." He was a small, kind-hearted looking boy, who didn't seem to ever open his eyes for some reason. It made Francis to smile again, just looking at him. For some reason, he got a strange sense of Déjà vu, although he couldn't place anyone in his mind who looked or acted like the child. Perhaps it was someone he had forgotten...

Throwing his hands into the air, Gilbert howled, "He _found_ my stash, didn't he?" He left the room then, puffing his cheeks out with annoyance and rounding the corner of the house. "Ludwig! I _told_ you, you are not allowed to drink my beer!"

Chuckling, Antonio shook his head. _He never seems to get upset. _Francis recollected, blinking with admiration. _I wish I could be like that, so I wouldn't ever hurt Arthur's feelings... _He frowned in remembrance to earlier that day, when he had snapped at him, and feelings of shame rushed to his brain. _Speaking of Arthur... _The French boy turned his head to look upon his friend. Arthur was still hunched in the corner of the room, looking unappeased, and grouchy. There were still remnants of fear in his eyes, which caused Francis to feel all the more guilty. "Arthur," He started, speaking softly as he approached the boy. He was cut of by the voice of Antonio.

"Leave him be." He yawned, leaning coolly against the closet jutting from the back wall. Francis opened his mouth to protest, his bright eyes shimmering with blue flames of defiance, but Antonio cut him off once more. "Your brother - your Arthur - can stay and get acquainted with the children. I'll show you around the house, and give you some provisions and such for your journey." He smiled sweetly then, tipping his head to the side slightly, as if trying to charm the visitor before him. "The children won't bite, I promise. Arthur will be completely safe, _big brother Francis_."

A shudder ran up Francis' spine. _Holy crap...can this guy read my mind? _He wondered for a moment, alarm scrawled all over his face. He soon shook the thought away. "Um, okay, but, Arthur's not my brother." He explained quickly, turning to tug said boy out from the corner by his sleeve. Arthur glared up at him and looked away, and Francis offered him a timid smile in return.

Looking perplexed, Antonio raised both eyebrows. "Strange." He voiced, clearly shocked in some way by this. "I would say you only hang around him for company's sake then, but...you two protect each other. Why is that?"

Suddenly, Arthur spoke up. "Why do _you_ protect _Gilbert_?" He snapped hotly, crossing his arms and looking the other way. His thick eyebrows were sitting right on top of his eyes, pressing down upon them angrily, and completing his unhappy look.

Surprise crossed Antonio's face for a moment, and Francis feared he had been offended, but then he threw back his head and laughed. "Good question!" He chirped when he was done. "I'm afraid I don't know the answer either." Flashing Arthur a beaming smile, he frolicked forwards and took the boy's sack right out of his hands. "I'm going to put stuff in it, for your journey." He told him, then grabbed Francis by the sleeve and tugged the boy along, "Come on, Francis! Let us get acquainted!" leaving Arthur alone with the two curly-haired boys, and a sour look on his face.

XXXX

Shortly after Francis and Antonio had departed, Gilbert returned to the room, dragging a young blonde-haired boy by the arm. The boy was thrashing about and spewing nonsense from his gaping, wet mouth, and it was obvious he was intoxicated. This made Arthur deeply disgusted - his mind recoiled with horror at the thought of a drunkard _child_ - and he grew angry at Francis for leaving him with these strangers.

"Seriously, Ludwig? I leave you alone for the shortest amount of time, and when I return you've gotten yourself into trouble!" Gilbert was scolding as he tugged his younger brother into the room and tossed him amongst Lovino and Feliciano. The child stumbled around for a bit, and then whirred to stick his tongue out at Gilbert. The albino ignored him, glancing from Arthur to the empty room around him. "Where's Antonio, and your brother?" He asked rather demandingly.

"Francis is _not _related to me, at _all_." Arthur spat in response, his cheeks flustering red for some reason. These two elder boys annoyed him in the same way Lovino had been annoyed by Francis. _It would be better if we left_. He thought bitterly.

"Woah, woah, kiddie," Gilbert chuckled at Arthur's anger, and stepped forwards to place a hand on top of the little boy's head. "I only said you were his brother, I never said you were bedmates-"

"Yeah, well, I bet you and _Antonio _are bedmates!" Arthur cut him off, not knowing exactly what he was talking about.

Someone punched him in the arm. "You take that back!" Lovino squeaked, his face ripe red and his golden-brown eyes narrowed into infuriated slits. "Antonio is _my _bedmate!" It was obvious the child didn't know what they were talking about either, but he seemed ready to pick a fight over anything.

Getting even more irritated, Arthur snapped, "I wasn't talking to _you!_" but then, not wanting to sound like the odd one out, he screeched in Lovino's face, so loud the other boy jumped backwards, "WELL ME AND FRANCIS SLEEP TOGETHER _EVERY NIGHT_!" Seeing the funny look on Gilbert's face, and the startled look of the other children, he added, "And, and we slept together _in a tree_!" Grunting, he crossed his arms, a smug look plastered on his face. _Hmf. Take that. _He thought to himself.

The first one to start laughing was the blonde haired boy called Ludwig. Whether it was because he was drunk, or because he actually understood the meaning of the children's words was unknown, but he threw back his head and _laughed_. Gilbert had been trying to keep a straight face, but once his brother broke, he started cracking up as well. Lovino and Feliciano soon followed, although they didn't know what they were laughing at exactly.

Embarrassment sent tears to Arthur's eyes. He _hated _it when people laughed at him - it was as if they were taunting him - and this time he didn't even know why. "Be quiet!" He yowled furiously, stumbling backwards a few steps. "What's so funny?" Suddenly the house seemed a whole lot darker; Arthur felt as if his emotions had been crushed. _I want to go home, I want to go home. _He thought, distressed. His mouth opened, and he was just about to scream for Francis, whenever Gilbert came forwards and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Boy," He giggled. "We're not laughing at _you_, exactly." Not giving Arthur room to protest, he continued. "Trust me. One day, you'll remember saying those words, and think just how funny that statement was."

"Mmf." Arthur said nothing in reply, instead he bit his lower lip and pouted. _He _couldn't see anything funny with what he had just said. _I don't like you people... _He thought to himself, crossing his short arms in front of him. _I don't trust you. _Thus, Arthur remained alone while the other children played amongst each other.

XXXX

Eily had barely eaten any of her food; the guilt was gnawing at her too badly for her to do so. She had known Allister had received a beating - Dylan had come running to her in the middle of town, where she was engaged in the market, blubbering about Pa's cruel injustice - but Eily had not known Pa had beaten him _that _bad. Whenever she got home, she figured Allister was only pouting - he was probably stung from getting the strap, she supposed, as Pa usually favored him and let him off with lesser punishments ("We're going to have a talk later, in my room." He would say). However, whenever her brother would not emerge, Eily had shown no pity towards him. "Life is cruel." She had said. _Boy, do I regret it now._

She was scraping the remains of her food into a container for later, as wasting food was practically a crime, whenever she heard a knock upon the door. Startled, as it was a late hour, Eily hurriedly set down her plate and utensils, and made her way to the door. Pa had gone into Allister's room to 'discuss his behavior' with him, and Dylan had gone out for a walk a little while ago (Eily knew he was feeling guilty as well). Being the only person in the room, Eily felt _obligated _to answer the door, even though she was a bit frightened. She approached the front door slowly, on the dainty tips of her feet, and slowly, cautiously unlocked and opened it.

The man who stood there made her mouth open in shock.

"Why, good evening, Eily." He said warmly, although his eyes expressed no warmth at all. It was obvious he had not been sleeping of late, as the undersides of his eyes revealed crescents of purple. Eily shuddered when he spoke, wondering _how _he knew her name in the first place, but not daring to ask. "Is your father home?" His hands clenched and unclenched at that, as if he fancied smashing something at the moment.

Quivering, Eily slowly forced her head to nod. "H-he is," She stammered, then took a moment to blink, breathe, and regain her composure. "mister Bonnefoy."

"Well," Auguste Bonnefoy cackled darkly, coming forwards so that his shadow covered Eily's whole frame and his dark ice eyes glittered in the darkness. "would you _fetch _him for me, love?" The way he growled the word 'fetch' was almost threatening, and Eily quickly nodded.

"J-just a moment, and he'll be right out!" She chirped, taking a step back into the house. Unwilling to leave the door open, she gave Auguste Bonnefoy a false look of pity, hand grasping the door's frame. "It'll just be a moment." She told him coolly, calmly shutting the door in front of him. She didn't lock it.

A feeling of foreboding was inching its way along her spine and chilling her skin as Eily made her way down the hallway towards Allister's room. _Hopefully, Pa is still in there, _She thought. _and sober enough. _Sucking in a breath, she went to the door to open it, her hand slowly coming down upon the handle. When she pulled, the door didn't budge it was dark. "Um," She said, softly, confused to why her father would have locked the both of them in, or the rest of them out. "Pa?" She called quietly, scraping her teeth against one another. She could hear strange noises from the other side of the door, and it was starting to make her feel awkward. "_Pa_?" She said again, louder this time, unnerved by the sound of panting and gagging. "Pa, there's an important man at the door here to see you!" She yelled at last, heart pounding in her chest. She refused to answer why.

The noises stopped at once, and she heard the distinct voice of Allister hissing something beneath his breath. She couldn't distinguish all that he was saying, but she was able to hear the words "Eily's outside", whispered in a hushed and desperate tone. The answering tone of her father was even softer and more secretive than Allister's voice, and Eily could hear none of it. "No." She heard Allister reply with a strained noise in the back of his throat. "Go _away_." He hissed. "_Please_."

"I'll be out in just a moment!" Her father boomed all too suddenly, causing Eily to flinch a bit, and bump her shoulder against the wall. "Who's here?"

"A-Auguste Kirkland!" She replied, flustered, somehow. Her forehead felt damp with sweat, and her hands felt clammy and cold. _Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. _Her brain seemed to be yelling at her. _Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. _It giggled. _I've done nothing wrong now! _She snapped back at it, ignoring the sensation she felt tugging at her soul, slowly chipping away the wall of ignorance she had built before her eyes. _No. I am not ignorant! _She shook her head to remove such thoughts.

The sound of clothing rustling came from inside, and Pa did not seem too happy about _who _his visitor was. "Oh." He merely said. "I'll be out in a moment."

Not wanting to linger much longer, Eily turned to go back to the door. She was interrupted when the door to Allister's room clicked, and opened, and her father stepped out and laid one of his big, scarred hands upon her shoulder. "Yes, sir?" She whispered politely, unable to look at the man for some reason.

"You're a good girl, Eily." Pa chuckled deeply in response, his voice like falling water pounding on great stones. "So not like your impudent brothers. You would never be like your _bratty_ brothers, would you?" Without hesitation, Eily shook her head no. Pa seemed pleased by this, and he removed his hand from her shoulder and ran it through her long, thick, russet hair. "Good girl." He smiled, revealing his yellowish brown teeth from between his two, cracked lips. "I will go speak to Bonnefoy now." Giving his daughter's head one last pat, he thundered down the hallway, and out of sight. Soon after, Eily heard the door open.

The sound of Allister's ragged breathing made her turn her head. "Al?" Her brother's name exited her lips as softly as a feather, and she daintily entered his room, nose scrunching up automatically: it smelled awful in there. "Geez, what have you been _doing_?" She inquired, knowing the smell was not of cigar smoke, or any alcohol she had ever come across. Allister was too busy rubbing his blankets across his face to answer her. Eily started laughing. "Do you have mental problems or something?" She taunted darkly. "Why are you wiping your face on the blanket?"

Almost at once, Allister's head snapped up, and his eyes met her's like two lakes of glittering green fire - no, more like the fire of hell this time, if they were the color of a witch's complexion. His lips, which were still bruised and cut, pulled back into a horrific snarl, revealing - was that saliva? - coating his teeth, and his reddish brown eyebrows slanted over his eyes. "Get _out_." He spat at her, his voice cracking at the very last word, as if he found it difficult to speak. "You _bitch_. GET OUT!" He choked, the rims of his eyes dampening.

Anger washed over Eily. "How _dare _you speak to me in such a matter!" She challenged, although she did not stay to speak to her brother more. She whipped out of Allister's room, slamming the door behind her, and stomped over into her own. She didn't slam her own door, however. _Stupid, stupid, __**stupid**__, ungrateful, worthless, __**weak**__ bastard! _Her mind was screaming, as she threw herself upon her bed and punched the pillow as hard as she could. _I don't understand what his problem is! He's just... _She fought to find a word. It came to her, in the voice of her Pa. "Pathetic!" She shouted aloud, half hoping Allister would hear her from the other room. A blush of shame flew to her cheeks then, and something constricted her throat, so Eily curled up upon her bed and clutched her hands to her chest. _I __**hate**__ him. _She thought. _I really hate him. _Outside, the distant noice of yelling drifted into her ears.

XXXX

"C'est des conneries, Daniel!" Unable to restrain himself, Auguste found himself with his hand clamped around the other man's throat, and his knee shoving him into the wall. They had only been talking - or rather, arguing - for a few minutes, and then it had gotten too much for the both of them, and they started fighting. "You stupid, pathetic, despicable, rotten, lying, stealing, tea-drinking, seamen-sucking, ass-kissing alcoholic!" Auguste snarled, slapping his rival across the face.

Grunting, the opposition swung his head forwards, meeting Auguste's forehead square in the face, and causing the latter to cry out with pain. Seizing the opportunity, Daniel Kirkland snatched Auguste by the wrists, prying his fingers from his neck, and swinging him around so that _he _slammed into the wall. "You make _no sense_, Gus." He spat vehemently. "Get the hell off of my property before I shoot you."

A cruel noise of bitter laughter escaped Auguste's throat. "You say that as if _you_ are the noble, and _I _am the hopeless drunkard!" Grinning psychotically, Auguste lashed out and kneed the other man in the groin. His wrists were released immidiantly as Daniel cursed and clutched at himself for a moment. While his enemy was occupied, Auguste snagged his fingers into his hair, jerking his head upright.

Daniel's blue eyes shone like the scales of a shark. "Let _go_ of me." He snapped, thrusting his hands forwards into Auguste's gut and throwing him off. For a moment the two just stood there, both of them furious, both of them with their arms crossed and pouting faces, until finally Daniel said, "_What _do you _want_?"

"Mon Dieu!" Auguste's hands flew into the air in frustration, and he paced around the front of the house, kicking the tips of his boots into the dirt as hard as he could, and sending dust flying. "Invusel! You have ruined your mind with rum! For the LAST TIME, _where _is my son?" His face flustered ever-so-slightly at just the mention of the child; his desire for him had grown excessively large over the two days Francis had been missing, as well as his fury.

Grunting with annoyance, Daniel started to reply, "How the hell would I know-" but then he stopped in mid-sentance, and his pale blue eyes flashed. Face turning glum, the Englishman studied his fingernails for a moment, lost in thought, then, he clenched his fist. "How many days has he been gone?" He asked softly.

"Two." Auguste replied without hesitation. "Today's the second day." It was obvious Daniel knew something now, so Auguste came forwards, looming over the other man's shoulder as he contemplated. The stench of alcohol seemed to waft from the man's very pores, and Auguste found it quite unseemly. He had always hated Daniel, for as long as he could remember, and to his best knowledge Daniel felt the same. _It's only natural for him to despise me though, really. _Auguste thought to himself. _My family __**did**__ destroy any chance of his wife inheriting her families wealth..._

"Come, Danny," Auguste murmured, resting his elegant, long fingers upon Daniel Kirkland's shoulder. It took all he had to not toss a cruel and taunting grin Daniel's way, instead, he furrowed his eyebrows sympathetically, and pursed his lips in a sad, almost mocking way. "let us set aside out past grievances, and start anew. Let us be fr-"

"Shut your face, frog, you don't want that." Daniel snarled, shoving Auguste's hand off his shoulder harshly and baring his yellowish teeth. "You just want your son back, so you can have someone to bury your cock in." He didn't even pause whenever Auguste's countenance twisted into a look of mortification and surprise. "Oh, don't think I don't know." Daniel chuckled darkly, his reddish hair flashing like strands of blood beneath the low light of the moon that beamed upon him. He turned away from his foe then, and stared up at the sky, and at the glittering, pinpoint stars. "_However_, I do know where your precious son is." The words drifted from his lips like flavored air, smelling of honey and sugar (though his breath _definatley _did not smell of either).

Coughing quietly to regain his composure, Auguste quietly asked, "_Where_?" feeling his body go limp and stunned for the time being, and his heart beat with a miserable tone.

A wicked grin crossed Daniel's face, making Auguste bite his lip - _he_ should be the one making the faces at _Daniel_ - but it was not so. Facing Auguste once more, Daniel Kirkland replied matter-of-factly. "It just happens my youngest dissapeared two days ago as well. Who's the one person who seems to _love _corrupting my son?"

_Thunk! _Auguste imagined the noise in his head, as horrifying, furious feelings covered him like a suffocating blanket. _That was the sound of my heart. _He thought to himself, clenching his fists at his sides. _It just fell from the loft of mercy it has been resting upon, _Anger boiled within his chest as he dug his teeth so hard into his lip that salty blood trickled into his mouth. _and it fell into a vat of poisonous intolerance and cruelty. _

"I _will _find them."

XXXX

The night was chilling, and the broken-down home that Gilbert and Antonio lived in offered little warmth. To aid this, the two had built a sort of 'fireplace' in the center of the room that everyone slept in. It was a shabby thing: a thick layer of dirt spread across the floor, surrounded by a thick circle of wide stones. They piled pieces of rotted wood from the house in the center, along with some twigs from outside, and then Antonio started the fire (though Gilbert claimed he could as well, if he so desired).

Soft snoring noises filled the room, as the younger children had all fallen asleep. Ludwig was the first to go, as he was a bit light-headed from the alcohol he had consumed. With him went Feliciano, as he had practically dragged the other child to his 'bed' (which was a pile of blankets in the corner). Lovino soon grew to feel jealous, and left out, and once he saw that the other two were sleeping, he snuck over and curled up beside them. Arthur, on the other hand, told everyone that he _could not_ and _would not_ get tired, as he was 'the great magician-fairy-king of no sleep'. He fell asleep with his head in Francis' lap.

Flames danced and swayed before the remaining three's eyes, casting bright sparkles into their irises, and twitching shadows across their faces. Gilbert's face was half consumed by the darkness of the room, whilst Antonio's was completely shrouded in firelight. Francis found the way they looked at the moment mesmerizing, and his shiny sapphire eyes traced their features again and again. After a while, Gilbert inquired, "So, are you and Arthur orphans? Did you flee from an orphanage?"

Shaking his head, Francis replied quietly, "Non, we ran away from our homes." He waited for Gilbert to say or ask more, but Antonio and he only gave Francis puzzled, confused looks. Feeling uncomfortable, Francis murmured, "I used to be a noble...Arthur was my peasant neighbor...b-but things weren't good for us, so we ran away." Arthur stirred in his lap at the sound of his name, and Francis gently lay a hand upon his head.

Gilbert's eyes were as wide as saucer plates. "You were a _noble_, and you ran away?" He whistled through his teeth, and laughed, throwing back his head and shaking it with disapproval. "Sorry to say, m'lord, but I'm _positive _your former life's troubles were _nothing_." His red eyes glinted when he looked Francis in the face again, and he seemed almost angry. "Antonio and I had _way _harder lives than you ever did."

Shame turned Francis' cheeks red, and feelings of selfishness were lashed into him. "I-I never said you didn't." He stammered, unable to hide his embarrassment. It made his interests slightly piqued, however, and he went on to ask, "S-so, how did you end up on the streets then?"

It was Antonio that first spoke up, and without hesitation. "I was born on the streets." He said, smiling bitter-sweetly. There was no ounce of shame in his voice as he went on. "My mother was a prostitute, and my father some drunk passerby. She cared for me until I was eight, and then, all of a sudden, she dissapeared..." Antonio trailed off then, his voice caked with longing and sorrow. He tried to shake away the noise, resuming with, "I ended up in an orphanage, where I met Lovino and Feliciano. They became like brothers to me... In the end, I broke them out, and ran away with them, to escape the cruel orphan master. We've been street rats ever since." A dry laugh escaped his lips as he finished, and he folded his hands into his lap. The firelight made his figure glow, and Francis blinked at him with wide and sympathetic eyes.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered beneath his breath, not sure what else to say. _So he's __**not**__ related to those two boys he calls his brothers... _Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Gilbert, as if urging him to tall his story next. Gilbert crossed his arms in response, giving Francis a direct stink-eye. Shifting about, and running his thin fingers through Arthur's hair, Francis dared to ask, "And you, Gilbert?"

"Hah." Gilbert spouted a fake, blunt laugh from his lips, sending spittle flying into the dying fire. "_My _story? One second." Leaning backwards, the albino put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. He was trying to act as if he had no cares or worries whatsoever, Francis observed, but his voice cracked with emotion when he spoke next. "Ludwig and I lived with our family, not too far from here. My father worked as a shoemaker, and my mother took care of us. She had a baby as well, although, I've forgotten its name...it was so long ago..." Pausing, Gilbert ran his hand across his face, grinning half-heartedly and pretending to laugh. "Well, one day, mother sent Ludwig and I down the to market to buy some cheese and flour. We went, and bought it...and when we came back, our house was gone." His red eyes glimmered with hopelessness. "It had caught fire, by some accident I no longer recall, and everyone, my mother, father, and the babe, died. That's how _I _became a street rat!"

Silence took them shortly after that, and the three said nothing more. It seemed as if ice had crept beneath Francis' skin as he stared deeply into the quickly diminishing fire. He knew that soon they would be shrouded in darkness, and it scared him, so he sought out Arthur's little hand and clung onto it as if it were a rosary. _I really __**am **__a selfish child. _He scolded himself. _I ran away from a life Gilbert and Antonio __**never **__got the chance to experience. I ran away from wealth, and from being spoiled. _A sigh drifted out of Francis' mouth. _I'm awful... _

"Why did _you_ run away?"

The voice, which was Gilbert's, startled Francis out of his thoughts, and his head quickly snapped up, bafflement upon his face. "Um...I...er..." He fought for words. a strange, tight feeling balled itself in the pit of his stomach, and it seemed as if his tongue had been tied into a knot. A burning sensation wracked his body as he tried to speak - he wanted to tell them, a little bit - but the secret would not exit his lips, and it made his stomach clamp up in pain when he tried. Stressed, he pressed his teeth together as hard as he could before finally evading the question with, "I had to take Arthur away. His family was awful...abusive! They beat him constantly - brutally!" _Brat. You told them something that wasn't yours to tell. _His conscious snapped, but Francis chose to ignore it.

"Mmh." Gilbert purred languidly, shifting positions so he was laying on the floor, head propped up by his hand. "You're trying to get us to believe that you were _so_ valiant that you just left your life of gold and pretty gowns to save a peasant? Hah!" He snorted the laugh in the back of his mouth, and then cackled a bunch where he lay. "That's the biggest pile of bull crap I've ever heard. What's the _truth_? What was happening at home, snobby, did daddy spank you for the first time?"

In truth, Auguste had never hit him, but the mere thought of being punished in such a way - and at his age - made Francis fluster with embarrassment. A strange feeling seeped into the boy's heart, like warm, toxic liquid, and he practically yelled at Gilbert, "_No_, he did _not_!" Squeezing Arthur's hand to keep himself from shaking, he continued. "My father gave me e-everything I e-ever asked for, and _more_!"

Sneering, as if this was one of the most fun games he'd played in a while, Gilbert muttered, "Oh, I'm _sure _he gave you more." His hand that wasn't propping up his face rose then, pointing lazily at the hickey on Francis' neck. "He gave you _a lot_ more, didn't he? Every night, I bet." His expression didn't even change as he spoke so sarcastically and without mercy; it was as if this was a common subject for him to discuss, and a fun one at that.

Before he could stop himself, Francis felt tears come to his eyes. _Merde... _"Be quiet!" He squeaked hoarsely, using all his self control to keep his body from quivering with fury, and remembrance. "You know _nothing_ of me." He hissed through bared teeth. "Nothing that you say ever happened to me!" The words flew from his mouth in an obvious desperate tone.

"Oh, really-" Gilbert began.

"_Stop it_, Gil." Antonio cut in. It was the first time the boy had spoken in a while, and his dark greenish eyes were sharp with disapproval. "Just leave Francis alone." He demanded calmly, and emotionlessly. "Can't you see he doesn't want to talk about his past?" The fire died just then as he was speaking, and with it, everyone's urge to speak. "We should all be getting some rest now, anyhow." Francis heard Antonio murmur in the obsidian blackness. No one objected. There was the sound of fabric rustling as everyone lay down, and then all was quiet.

For what seemed like a long time, Francis remained sitting up, stiff and scared, and staring into the depths of the darkness, unmoving. His hand was still holding Arthur's, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. _You'll protect me from the darkness, won't you? _His mind asked the child, and immidiantly he felt foolish at the thought. _Only little babies are afraid of the dark. _He told himself bitterly, pulling Arthur nearer and laying down on their own blanket pile. _And only mother's protect children from the dark. _

Sighing, Francis slipped under one of the blankets, and pulled it on top of both Arthur and himself. It was thin, and ragged, but it would do. The rest made for a makeshift bed. _I'm so sorry... _He wished he could say it aloud, but there was the chance Antonio and Gilbert were still awake, so he dared not. Instead he hugged Arthur as close to him as possible, and buried his nose in the younger boy's small shoulder. _I'm sorry for everything: for not protecting you enough, and for getting you into this mess now. _His breath tickled the back of Arthur's neck, and it slowed when he started thinking something dark: _If I never was born, your life would be so much better. _He realized, and the tears that had been clinging to the rims of his eyes leaked out, one on each side. "I should have never been born." He whispered, so quiet that, he was positive no one but himself could hear it.

Arthur rolled over in his sleep and lay his tiny hand on Francis' cheek.

* * *

**C'est des conneries = This is bullshit**

**Merde = Shit/Damn it**

**Also, I was a bit bored, so I tried to animate a trailer (or amv, if you will) of Dormez-Vous. It's a bit sporadically put together, and if I ever make another one I promise it will be better, but if you want to watch it, it's here: /watch?v=U1QfYtyqrO8 You just have to add the dot com after youtube, and put it in your URL bar.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Dormez Vous?** **Chapter 10**

The morning sunshine crept over the houses and baked the dirt roads, hitting every crevice of shadow and ridding the world of the obsidian dark that had ruled the world only hours ago. Jeanne crouched in the shade of an old, crooked tree, her cerulean eyes bright and sharp, watching intently. Yesterday she had been a spy – following Auguste Bonnefoy around all day in an attempt to learn the whereabouts of Francis – and today, well, she wasn't sure exactly _what _she was anymore. One thing was for sure, and that was that she had gotten an earful of information she wasn't sure she wanted to know. _Poor Francis... _She thought; she had practically had a heart attack when she heard Daniel Kirkland speak to Auguste about his son in such a way...and Auguste not denying it. _You just want your son back, so you can have something to bury your cock in. _Yes, that was what he said. Jeanne shuddered at the memory.

Besides that, Jeanne had learned something almost as formidable: Francis had ran away, and not only that, but with Arthur! This intrigued her greatly. _Certainly, it must have been a spur of the moment thing! _She told herself. _Otherwise Francis would have invited me to come along. _In her mind, she felt Francis did truly like her, in a way, and she didn't think he would intentionally abandon her. Anyways, she couldn't _blame _him for wanting to flee as soon as he got the opportunity, especially since it seemed Daniel's accusations were likely true. _If it were me, I would have ran away a long time ago. _

The house had not stirred. Jeanne had been waiting since the moon first began to descend, and the sun started to rise, for Auguste Bonnefoy to emerge from his home. She was afraid. He was a noble – what if he paid the authorities to search for Francis, or got hounds to sniff him out, even? She would not be surprised. He was a despicable – no, _revolting_ – man. _Does that mean...committing such acts along with him...does that make Francis an abomination as well? _The thought crossed Jeanne's mind unexpectedly, filling her up with wonder, but she forced it from her head. No matter what sins Francis committed, he was, truly, a good boy at heart – Jeanne was sure of it – and she should not, and could not, hate him for something that...really wasn't his fault.

The sight of movement at the front door drew Jeanne out of her thoughts and back to her senses. Holding as still as a rock planted in the earth, she waited, and sure enough, Auguste Bonnefoy emerged from the house and came down the front porch. He was dressed up in a rustic orange tunic, with light, silvery tights beneath it, and nice, leather shoes. The man's dirty blonde hair was combed back even, and he looked surprisingly respectable. _This is one of the first times I've actually seen him capture the look of a noble. _Jeanne supposed.

Coughing, Auguste looked around himself in an absentminded way, then moved away from his home, and began strolling down the dusty dirt road. He kicked the tips of his feet at the dirt when he walked, in a way that reminded Jeanne very much of Francis himself. _He's heading for town. _Jeanne realized instantly. Rising to her feet, she stalked forwards, keeping a good distance behind him, but following all the same. She made sure to sneak slightly nearby something – like bushes, or a stray tree – at all times, in case she needed to leap behind one and hide at any moment. She was a sly thief, and that was what made her so quiet. _But today, I am not a thief. _She thought coldly. _Nor am I a spy. Today...I am Francis' brave warrior. _

XXXX

"Pfffft, look at him!" Gilbert chuckled, one amongst the crowd of curious eyes that were surrounding the still-sleeping Francis at the moment. The others gathered around included Antonio, Arthur, and Ludwig, who had taken an interest in the stranger asleep in their home once he'd woken up (the two brothers, Lovino and Feliciano, were still snoring loudly beside one another). "What do you think he's dreaming of?" Gilbert asked loudly, his red eyes glimmering with curiosity.

"None of your business, you nosy weirdo white-head." Arthur responded contemptuously, crossing his arms with a pouting look upon his face. For some reason, he felt the urge to protect the boy who lay on the floor – he had, after all, come this far with him; he was the only one Arthur felt he could trust at the moment. "Stop looking at him." He grumbled sourly, letting his sharp green eyes stab into each one of the boys in turn: Gilbert, Ludwig, Antonio. The memory of waking up beside Francis made Arthur fluster slightly, but, luckily, he had opened his eyes before anyone else, and was able to clamber out of the other boy's tightly-grasping arms before anybody saw. However, now they were all making fun of Francis, it seemed.

A squeak escaped Ludwig's mouth, and he glanced towards Gilbert with shining, attention-seeking eyes. "Look," He peeped excitedly. "he's going to do it again!" It was as if none of them had heard a word Arthur had said, and Gilbert chuckled at his little brother, and ruffled his hair, making Arthur's fury burn even hotter inside of him.

"Aahnn...ah...n-non...nnnygghh..." In his sleep, Francis whimpered and moaned, his lips twitching into an open-mouthed frown, and his eyebrows squishing into his forehead with horror. Whining, he squirmed, then threw his left arm across his face defensively, and loudly cried out. "Arrêtez-vous s'il vous plaît!" Arthur noticed that perspiration was forming upon his forehead, and his breathing was becoming increasingly heavier, and heavier.

Feeling someone's eyes upon him, Arthur turned his head slightly to meet gazes with Antonio. The boy was staring down at him with a troubled frown; his arms were crossed in front of him, and his fingernails were scraping at his opposite elbows absentmindedly. "Do you speak French?" He inquired quietly, his dark green eyes shimmering like crystal.

Flustering, Arthur replied snappishly, "N-no, of course not!...I only know a song." His last sentence came out barely a whisper, and he almost regretted saying it. The haunting melody seemed to repeat itself over and over again in his head, causing him to shiver slightly at the memory. _Fr__ère Jaques, Frère Jaques, Dormez-Vous? Dormez Vous?_ Arthur's sharp green eyes flickered down to Francis, who was cowering in on himself and making soft sobbing noises. Making a pouting face, he looked towards Antonio, wondering if the older boy would wake his friend up. However, Antonio only returned Arthur a look of curiosity, and Arthur lost hope in him. _I'll have to do this myself. _He thought sourly, kneeling upon the cold ground beside where Francis lay.

The Frenchman's hands clenched tightly upon the tattered blankets he had drawn close around his frame. "Ҫa fait mal! Père..." He gasped sharply, biting his lower lip so fiercely that he drained all the blood from it, leaving it a pasty white color. His hands shook with fear, and tears flashed in the corners of his eyes, making Arthur wonder what he was dreaming about.

"What are you doing?" Asked Ludwig in a demanding way, his hands planted firmly on each hip. Although younger, he was already taller than Arthur, and this annoyed him completely. "Don't wake him up." The child pouted, sticking out his lip unhappily. "It's entertaining to watch him sleep."

"Shut up." Arthur replied back to him fearlessly, twisting his mouth into a menacing grimace of defiance. "He's _my_ friend, not yours." Ignoring Ludwig's troubled face, and Gilbert's laughing one, Arthur turned his attention back to Francis. The boy was shuddering, and squeaking out more not understandable words. _Why can't you dream in __**English**__? _Arthur wondered with annoyance, although he still pitied the boy. Cautiously, he reached out his hand, and laid it upon Francis' shaking shoulder. "Oi. Francis. Wake up." He commanded, shifting his hand back and forth a little. Francis, in response, cried out quite audibly, and shrank into a little ball. _Sometimes I have nightmares that Allister turns into a monster, and comes and eats me when I'm sleeping. _Arthur thought to himself. _Are you dreaming about monsters? _He wondered, remembering how Francis had been petrified of the dark. Arthur had, after all, decided to sleep next to him for that very reason...but then Francis decided not to wake up in the morning, the lazy dolt. "Francis!" Arthur said loudly, leaning over said person and poking his finger into his forehead. "Wake up, Francis!" He snapped.

Seeming smug at Arthur's failed attempts to awaken his friend, Ludwig gave him a large, wet grin. "Heh. See? He _wants _to sleep." He stated in that annoying accent of his. Well, Francis had an accent too, but Arthur thought Ludwig's and Gilbert's were more annoying.

"Let him sleep, Arthur-man." Gilbert told him with a chuckle. "You can come with me and Antonio to start making breakfast, want to?"

Although the idea was tempting, Arthur had never in his life been told he was a good cook. In fact, he wasn't allowed to _touch _food, and if he tried, Eily would be after him with a wooden spoon before he could say 'unicorn'. "No thank you." He told Gilbert instead. Feeling pressured, he quickly made the decision that he _had_ to wake Francis up. _How do you wake somebody up, who doesn't want to wake up? _Arthur inquired to himself. He thought about how his siblings used to wake him up. When he was younger, Dylan used to jump on him. Eily sometimes smacked him on the top of his head. Allister just yelled. But then, if he dug _way _far back into his memory, Arthur could remember how someone else used to wake him up. _Mum... _Shutting his eyes momentarily, Arthur allowed himself to be lost in the memory, and to compose himself all at once. Somehow, he knew that these boys were going to make fun of him for this, but, hearing Francis crying into his blanket made him realize he was willing to pay that price. Sighing, Arthur opened his eyes. "It's time to get up, Francis." He murmured softly, leaning forwards and wrapping his short arms around Francis' thin neck. "Wake up, dear." He said quietly, imitating his mother's voice – after all the time she had been gone, he thought he had forgotten it – and, ignoring the feelings of eyes upon his back, he gave Francis a gentle squeeze, and lay his face beside his ear. "Come on. Get up..." Heat made his whole face turn beet red. _I feel so stupid. This is stupid! It's never going to work! _He thought with embarrassment, almost resorting to smacking Francis in the face.

"M-mère..?" Francis' ragged breathing calmed, and his arms tangled themselves around Arthur (the latter tried to pull away but found himself unable). Sighing with bliss, Francis tugged Arthur close upon his chest, squeezing the breathe out of him. Arthur felt his tears soaking into his head and made a squeaking noise of displeasure. Slowly, Francis opened his eyes; he seemed shocked when he did. "Ah!" He spat out, ashamed, and quickly released Arthur from his crushing grip. "Oh...I'm sorry." He covered up quickly. "I'm so sorry." He looked around for a bit, scrubbing the liquid from his eyes in a rushed way, and then glanced up at the three staring boys. "I'm sorry." He repeated, pushing Arthur away gently and rising to his feet. "S-sorry...I...sorry." He seemed confused at what to say, and his whole body seemed to turn bright red. His hands clenched into fists, and then unclenched again, and he stared at his feet, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Arthur watched him from where he sat on the floor, waiting for Gilbert or Antonio, or even Ludwig, to make a smug remark about how Arthur woke him up.

"Hey, are you okay?" Gilbert asked in a concerned way, much to Arthur's surprise. His red eyes were deep with feeling, more than Arthur had ever seen him have before, and he reached out towards Francis, laying his hand on his shoulder. "Hey? Francis?"

The addressed person flinched away, his light blonde hair swaying as he did so. Francis let those sunshine-colored strands fall over his face, concealing his eyes, and part of his nose. "I'm fine." He said, remaining motionless, and then, he raised his head. Everyone practically blanched when they saw that he was smiling kindly and happily, as if nothing had happened. "Forgive me for sleeping in." He chuckled. "So...what are we having for breakfast? That is, if the two over there ever get up." He added upon observing Feliciano and Lovino still snoozing in the corner.

All at once, everyone started laughing (with the exception of Arthur, who was giving everyone hateful death-glares). "Man, you really scared us!" Gilbert exclaimed, clapping his hand against Francis' back heartily. "We're having whatever we _have!" _He giggled. "And if we don't have anything, we'll have whatever we steal!" Francis nodded dumbly, laughing along with him, and flashing him a white-toothed smile.

Crossing his arms, Arthur remained where he sat on the floor. _'I'm fine.' _He repeated Francis' words in his head, only made them sound whiny and mocking. _Oh yes, I'm Francis Bonnefoy, and I'm __**perfect**__!_ Gritting his teeth, he looked away from all of them. _Liar. _

"Are you hungry, little one?" A voice asked quietly, and Arthur felt the presence of a familiar green gaze. Antonio was smiling down at him, and offering his hand to help him back to his feet, but Arthur quickly turned it down.

"I'm _fine_." Arthur spat.

XXXX

Once he reached town, Auguste headed straight for the church. Jeanne looked on in distaste, her lip curled up at the man. He did not even pause when he passed the 'police station', which was really a run-down old building full of baton-carrying mercenaries, but, when she stopped to think about it, it made sense. The church held a lot of authority – much more than the actual 'authority' – in town. In fact, the church was what paid people to 'keep the peace' amongst pedestrians. It was quite a common thing for churches to be corrupted, and, Jeanne knew, their town's church was no exception. If Auguste could bust out enough coins, the priest would give him most anything he desired.

_I have to go in there. _Jeanne thought to herself, straightening up and puffing out her chest in a heroic way. It had been a very long time since Jeanne had last entered a Catholic church – the last time she had been inside one was when she was a small child – and although she was one for adventures, Jeanne was slightly afraid the people inside may reject her. She knew it was impossible, but the thought of them being able to see through her soul and into her deep and most sinful thoughts made her skin crawl. _What if they do not allow me in because of my clothes? _She wondered, glancing down at herself. Her tattered, peasant-boy clothes seemed to peer back at her in response.

So lost was she in her troubled thoughts, that Jeanne almost missed seeing Auguste enter the front of the Church. It was a really magnificent place – a grand, white structure, with carved marble statues in the front of it, and large steeples poking the belly of the blue sky. No one tried to stop Auguste from entering, and some friendly-looking women in black robes bobbed their heads to him as he entered. _If I act like I belong, they should let me in. _Jeanne told herself, recalling the one time, so long ago, when she had gone into the very same church... The memory was fuzzy, but she could remember there being many benches, and a man yelling down at her brother and her, and people murmuring all around. _Churches are supposed to protect people. _She thought absentmindedly, recollecting words said to her in the past. _This will be cake. _Jeanne put on a confident smile, and walked up to the church as if she had been doing it all her life.

As she began stepping through the door, which had been propped open with some sort of stone carving, one of the black-robed women gave her a look. Her dark, gray eyes glinted beneath her hood, and she said, slowly and emotionless, "Are you lost, little boy? Are you hungry?" Her breath smelled of crushed lavender, which wasn't a bad thing, but Jeanne wrinkled her nose all the same.

Faltering a bit in her confidence, Jeanne shook her head. _Do I really look that masculine? _She asked herself, finding it amusing that this stranger fancied her a boy. "No, ma'am," Jeanne replied, mustering up the deepest-sounding voice she could. "I'm just here to see the, ah..." _What was that man called again..._ For a moment she struggled with herself, teeth scratching over each other. "The priest! Yeah." She gasped, finally remembering. "Um...Father said he could...save me!"

"Oh, you poor soul..." The woman sighed, wetness slick inside the bottoms of her dull-colored eyes. She tilted her head to the side a bit, revealing that she had soft, light-brown hair beneath her black hood. "Go inside, then." She nodded, ushering Jeanne into the church with flicking fingertips. "May you be blessed." She called, smiling bitter-sweetly at Jeanne, and making little crow's feet appear beneath her eyes.

Flustering, Jeanne bowed slightly. "Y-yes, miss..." She stammered, unsure and a bit frightened in this new environment she had been placed in. Turning, she quickly ran away from the entrance, feeling her short, dirty hair bounce against the back of her neck as she did so. When she paused to observe her surroundings, Jeanne was in a strange room, like the one from her memory. Many clean, wooden benches were lined up in perfect rows, all facing a single pulpit in the front of the room. _Ah, I remember this. _She thought vaguely. _The man who yelled at everyone stands up there..and we sit down here, and listen, and say we are sorry, and say that we love everything. _A smile almost fell upon her mouth at the thought of that, but then she remembered why she was at the church in the first place, and her mouth twisted back into a serious line. _Where is that Auguste...? _She asked, looking around the room and seeking him with bright, curious eyes.

She spotted Auguste in the corner of the room, standing in a dimly lit hallway off to the side. His lips were moving quickly as he conversed, and a short, frail looking man dressed in a green robe. A shiver went though Jeanne's body at the sight of him – but surely, this was not the same man from her childhood – and slowly, she crept forwards, dodging between the pale brown benches for cover. Her heart seemed to be pounding like a drum in her chest, and she swallowed repeatedly, as if to silence it. When she got close enough to hear what the pair were saying, Jeanne crouched behind the nearest bench, and strained her ears to listen. Sweat was dampening her skin by now, but she ignored it, and the urge to itch at it, and sat as still as possible.

"...whatever it takes, just as long as my son is back." Auguste was saying, his tone full of mock worry and concern. Jeanne straightened up against the back of the bench, straining to hear as clearly as she possibly could.

A short, snorted laugh came from the green-robed priest. "A missing child," He chuckled, and Jeanne could almost _see_ him in her mind, with his face twisted into a look of disapproval, and his head shaking back and forth almost teasingly. "He could not have gone far. Francis is only eleven, no?" He made that horrendous snorting-laugh noise again, and it made Jeanne feel as if her skin was covered by thousands of tiny, hairy spiders. "You will get your son back. I'll send some men to do it."

The sound of clothing shuffling suggested Auguste was moving about nervously, as if he had the urge to say something, and he did, finally. "I wish to go myself, as well." He murmured, sounding unsure of himself, and for a moment, Jeanne pitied him. It really must be hard, she figured, speaking to such a menacing-looking, and influential man. However, Auguste added something else, something, slightly strange. Speaking louder, he told the priest. "I don't want those men to get to my son before I, and try to do any-."

"_Auguste_." The green-robed priest cut him off, in a way that sounding like a threat. The nobleman fell silent automatically, like a trained dog might, and Jeanne clenched her fists at her sides, scenting treachery about this whole meeting. The sound of fabric shuffling echoed throughout the room once again, but this time it was the green priest moving. By the noise of it, he had come closer to Auguste – the latter was quiet, and for a second Jeanne fancied the priest was strangling him – but then, the priest said, in a saucy, flat tone, "Sometimes, it takes more than _gold_ to pay a man."

_Mon Dieu... _Jeanne had to cover her hands over her mouth to keep herself from gasping, and she felt her chest rise and fall more rapidly than it had before. Sweat poured down her forehead and stuck to her fingertips, and her eyes felt sore and strained for some reason. She shifted her legs uncomfortably, wishing to be invisible. _Brother, he... _She began dragging herself away from the bench she hid behind, her face the color of egg whites. _Sometimes it takes more than gold...sometimes it takes more than gold...more than...gold... _The words repeated in her mind, and she wished dreadfully to escape them.

"I know, Father." Auguste responded coolly, although there was a slight tweak of emotion inside his voice. He had nothing else to say after that, and it seemed as if he were desperately trying to remain calm. "But I..." His words came out quieter than a whisper, and Jeanne didn't know if she had actually heard them, or imagined them.

"I'll have them start with the next town over." The green-robed priest said monotonously, although Jeanne imagined his voice as a hammer, chipping against weak walls of stone. "Go if you must, but you will not go with the men I send."

The sound of coins clinking echoed within Jeanne's ears as she shakily got to her feet and ducked behind the next bench over. "Yes, Father." Auguste's voice rang dully and morosely in her ears. Jeanne reached another bench, further away from them as he spoke.

_They're done talking, oh god, let me escape, let me escape... _Jeanne's face was completely red, and her clothing was drenched with sweat. Adrenaline pounded inside her heart, and made tears come to her cerulean eyes. She heard more coins clicking, and money jangling, and hoped that the exchange of money between Francis and Auguste would give her enough time to escape. Making a last minute, rash decision, Jeanne stiffed up, and sprinted towards the door. As she was exiting it, she failed to see the stone stature holding the door open, and she slammed her toe right upon it, and fell. Her body flew through the air momentarily, then crashed against the stone steps, and slid down each one after the other. Pain made her cry out, and blood came out of her mouth when she opened it.

"Oh, my dear, are you okay!" One of the hooded women asked, looming over her with a concerned look in her eyes. The other women soon gathered around, crooning and whispering comforting words, and soon soft, wrinkled hands were all over Jeanne, tugging at her and lifting her back to her feet.

Once she was standing, Jeanne was overcome by an awful feeling of dizziness and nausea. Her knees were scraped and bloodied, and her hands were cut as well. It hurt, but it was nothing to cry over...except the pounding inside her skull _was_ making it difficult for her not to, and Jeanne had to twist her face up as tight as she could, and make a 'sss' noise to keep from weeping.

"Oh, what happened?"

Someone else was talking, but Jeanne was too irritated by her carelessness to care. Folding her arms and rubbing her hands against her elbows, Jeanne sucked in a breath and stepped down the last step. "Are you okay?" The voice asked again, and, finally, Jeanne turned her head. Her eyes widened with shock as she did so. "Are you hurt..._Jeanne_?" The priest in the green robe asked, his mouth a small 'o' of false sadness. His hand stretched forwards then, and he flashed her a crooked toothed smile. "Here, come inside, let me help you with those injuries..." He snickered, a shadow crossing through his pitch-colored eyes as he grabbed for her clothing.

Leaping back at just the right moment, Jeanne exclaimed, "Non!" Her eyes flashed with defiance, and she spat a big, red glob of phlegm, right upon the green-robed priest's shoes. Gasps erupted around her, and it seemed as if the whole world suddenly became her enemy. "Stay away from me..." Jeanne hissed through her teeth, backing a few steps from the group of black-clothed women and the priest she hated so very much. _So it **is** you, still, here. _Anger flared inside her chest, but she could not release it; she was very much outnumbered.

"What's going on?" A familiar voice asked, and Auguste emerged from the church, his golden hair shimmering neatly in the morning sunlight. When he caught sight of Jeanne he gave her a polite smile, and tipped his head, but upon seeing her scabs and bloodied lip, he frowned. "Did you fall?" He asked.

_Be brave. _Courage swarmed Jeanne's chest like a flock of locust, making her soul swell up on the inside to the point of bursting. She focused on her hatred for the green-robed priest, and her hatred towards Auguste, and shut her eyes. Darkness swam behind her lids, accented by a slight rustic orange, which was a result of the sun catching them. When she opened her eyes, she looked threatening, like a lion about to pounce on it's prey. "I know what you've done." She snarled, to both of them at once. Not stopping to see their reactions, Jeanne turned and fled, dashing down the dirt road as fast as her feet could carry her. Her heart leaped to her throat and her lungs expanded and deflated rapidly. _Without fear, there is no courage. _She told herself.

As her feet carried her away from the white-washed church, Jeanne thought she heard the green-robed priest say, "She is beyond help...the only way to save her now, is death."

XXXX

The strange mush that Gilbert called food tasted flavorless and cold; Francis wondered if the gruel tasted the same to everyone else as well, or if it was only him. He sighed, picking at it with the tips of his fingers. Gilbert had even gotten out 'the silverware', which were battered wooden bowls, for them, and still, he was not hungry. Perhaps it had been the dream that had shaken his senses. He hadn't spoken, or even looked at Arthur since he first woke up, and emotions of pride and shame made him continue to not do so.

"What's the matter, Francis, are you not hungry?" Gilbert asked, nudging the other boy's shoulder curiously. It seemed, by the look on his face, that he was a bit offended at Francis for not enjoying his food, and he leaned slightly over him, red eyes flashing like blood rubies. "Is it okay?" He prodded, poking his finger against Francis' ear as if to prompt an answer.

Sighing, Francis raised the bowl closer to his mouth. "Yeah...it's good." He said, then took a gulp of the stuff. It tasted...well, really it didn't taste like anything. Still, it made him feel a bit sick for some reason, and he wondered what exactly Gilbert had put into his brilliant concoction.

"This food is _dirt_!" Ludwig squeaked loudly, crossing his arms in front of him. "I want to eat something made of _meat_, like a man!" Sniffling, he shoved his own bowl away from him, and gave Gilbert a defiant, pouting face.

"You want meat every night, you sniveling twit!" Gilbert moaned, leaving Francis for his brother, and engaging in a rather long, pointless argument with him about food. Feliciano and Lovino were quick to join in, on Ludwig's side, which made Gilbert all the more flustered as his food was insulted from three different mouths.

Eventually, Francis lost interest in the fight, and, downing the rest of Gilbert's 'special food', he set the bowl on the battered, dust-covered table, and walked out of the room. He felt like he needed to be outside, because his lungs were slowly crumbling up inside of him, and his heart was constricting into a knot – it was so hard to breathe. Biting his lip, Francis gave one last glance around the room, then went to the door. Antonio spotted him leaving, but seemed to understand, and only looked away as Francis slipped out the door and into the happy, morning sunlight.

Heat brought life into the child's weary, battered soul, and seemed to lift his spirits in just the slightest way. "Ah..." He purred, closing his eyes to the brightness of the sun, allowing himself to bask in its glow. It was as if thousands of tiny, hot fingers were touching his skin, and pouring warm water all over his body in benevolent gushes. _I wish I could stand here forever, and be enveloped in this... _He thought to himself, stretching his arms out at his sides and arching onto the tops of his feet. For a moment, his nightmare was forgotten to him, and no longer did he see the haunting image of his mother's face... _What a shame you are. _He chided himself once he reentered reality. _Dreaming such things...**here** of all places... I've likely committed some sort of crime, dreaming such filthy things!...but the ending...mother...she is not filthy... _He frowned, his eyes fluttering open, and stared at the cracked dirt beneath his shoes. _You don't even know your mother, fool. _

"Frog!" Arthur's snappish voice made Francis flinch, and he felt the little boy smack him rather hard upon his back, right between the shoulder blades.

"Ow!" He cried out, whirring around with a look of confusion in his light blue eyes. "Don't hit, Arthur!" He whined. "What was that for?" His hands remained behind him as he asked the question, rubbing the spot where he had been struck. Arthur seemed irritated by him doing so, and waited until he stopped to reply.

Stepping forwards, he planted both hands on Francis' chest and shoved. "You're a liar!" He spat, eyes ablaze like a forest fire. His lips were drawn back into some sort of growl, and his face was red beneath his eyes. "Liar!" He said again, chest huffing up and down with each breath he took.

"Liar? How am I a liar!" Francis spat back, hurt because Arthur was trying to pick a fight for him for no reason he could see. "_You're_ the one going up and hitting people for nothing!"

Anger came into Arthur's expression at that, and he began to yell. "It wasn't for nothing! Shut up!" Wetness glistened in the corners of his emerald eyes, which Francis couldn't figure out, and his face grew even more heated with fury. The boy's shoulders began rising and falling with more and more angry. "You...I made myself look like an _idiot_ for you, and you can't even tell me _why_!"

_Ah...so that's what he's talking about. _Francis swallowed nervously, and adjusted the fabric around his throat. A feigned look of innocence came to his face, and he tilted his head to the side a bit, smiling sweetly. "Arthur, honey, I don't know what you're talking about." He said confidentially, sure his voice did not falter as he did so. _There is no way Arthur can find out... _He decided firmly.

A tiny, balled fist caught Francis in the gut, sending him bowling over. "_Liar_." Arthur hissed, his teeth clenched vice-tight upon each other, and the tears in his eyes budding and getting bigger at a rapid pace. His fingers jabbed forwards and caught the older boy around the throat as Francis was bent over, coughing, and he tightened them ever-so-slightly. "No." He snarled, bringing his own face close to Francis', so that their eyes were locked. It seemed as if those green eyes were breaking through the wall of light blue, and diving into Francis' very soul. Squirming a bit, but not talking, Francis tried to draw away; he was completely shocked at Arthur's behavior. The littler boy let him go without a fight. "You're not fine." He chocked out, hands quivering at his sides. "I don't understand..." He exclaimed, and it was almost a wail, and he took a few steps backwards on tottering legs. "You're not fine, Francis. You're not fine."

Before Francis could say anything in reply, he turned and ran away as fast as his short legs could carry him. "Arthur, wait!" Francis yelped, still stunned. He staggered upright and went to run after his friend, but tripped over an upturned stone and fell flat on his face. The wind was knocked out of him, but, as he lay in the dirt and watched Arthur flee him, he kept calling, "Don't go off on your own! Don't...leave me by myself!"

* * *

**I'm sorry this took so long to write... I was a bit distraught because my mother had a miscarriage, and I was in a dark and awful place, much like places I believe Francis visits every once in a while...**** Anyways, may you forgive me if the chapter is not long, or satisfactory enough, but I'm happy to say I am no longer in a too-bad of a mood, and I should be able to focus clearly on my writing now! The only downside is I begin high school in a week, and because I am in an IB program, I may receive more work than a normal high schooler would. Due to this, it may take me longer to update, so...I give you my most sincere of apologies (as i really do love writing).  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**Dormez-Vous? Chapter 11**

The mercenaries were gathered in a shadowy group, drinking ale and patting their horses. They looked everything like normal men – you wouldn't be able to tell otherwise – but Auguste had heard the talk around town, and he was _certain_ these were the men hired by the church to find his son. They had to be. From what he could see, they didn't look quite like perverts, so that was a good thing, but still, one could never be sure. Slowly, Auguste made his way over to him, his speckled mare trotting at a leisure place behind him, and his hand pulling at her reins every now and again to get her to walk faster. He had rented her from some stable master for a low price, although he wasn't sure if he intended on giving her back or not.

"Hey, boy!" One of the men hooted in greeting when he was Auguste approaching. He was a pot-bellied fellow with short, scratchy brown hair and tiny, black eyes. It was obvious that he didn't recognize Auguste as a noble, and really, the man couldn't blame him: Auguste was clad in a normal, peasant-like attire, ready for travel on the road. The satchel of money at his side, however, proved that he was more than just some dirty mercenary. "Are you coming on this venture with us as well?" The man asked happily, squinting his eyes up at Auguste and snorting. "The priest is paying us a mighty fine price just to find a scrawny runaway, huh? But, I do suppose nobles are worth more than us normal folk."

"They squeal better in bed, too!" A stocky, muscly-built man piped up from behind, his cool gray eyes flashing like pieces of flint. "I once had myself a noble woman; girl acted as if she'd never had a _real _man in all of her life!" Chuckling darkly, he set his saddle upon his horse and began stuffing supplies into packs that hung off the sides. He didn't seem to notice the way Auguste clenched his jaw towards his words.

The third and final mercenary gave the second speaker a sly, demented smile after he had spoken, and grinned, flashing everyone his yellowish brown, tea-stained teeth. "A noble _woman_, huh?" He sneered, rubbing his thin, knobby fingers together merrily. Besides his ugly teeth, and calloused hands, he wasn't that bad-looking of a man. He was a bit attractive, with bright brown eyes and soft, chocolate hair, and his face was shaped angular, like a pixie's... However he proved to be not to Auguste's liking when he furthered himself to say, "We're going after a noble _child_ now. I bet you they squeal _really_ delightfully." His nostrils flared outwardly as he said that, and his shining eyes twinkled.

"That's _revolting_!" The muscular man thundered, whirling on his friend with a look of mortification on his face. "And besides that, we're going after a boy!"

A snort escaped the brunette's nose. "Impossible!" He shot back. "There's no way! The priest said the kid had 'long golden hair' and 'sparkling blue eyes'! How is that a boy?"

Before the argument could continue further, Auguste stepped in, laughing sharply and laying his hands on either of the mercenaries' shoulders. "_The kid_ is a boy," He chuckled, patting their shoulders. "You're talking about _my_ son."

"Y-Y-You're Auguste Bonnefoy?" The trio stammered all at once, their mouths tumbling agape with awe. A cold wind seemed to have blown through the lot of them, and stealing their breath as it passed.

"Of course I am, sillies!" Auguste chirped, digging his hand into the satchel at his side and withdrawing a handful of golden yellow coins. He tossed them into the air, and they landed on the ground with soft thuds. No sooner had they hit the dirt than the mercenaries were all upon them, scrambling and squabbling like rats over a piece of cheese. "Come now, let's not waste time." Auguste pouted sarcastically as one of them grabbed the others beard, and a third bit onto his arm. They paused at the sound of the noble's voice and detached themselves from each other, slowly rising to their feet to stare at him with shameful, embarrassed eyes. "You're all going to do exactly what I say." Auguste told them blatantly. "And whoever behaves the best...why, maybe I'll give him a big, golden reward."

"G-gold?" The pot-bellied one piped up, his squinting eyes seeming to grow wider, until they were the size that a normal person's would be on a regular basis. The other two men soon followed with their own looks of greed and desire, fingers twitching at their sides and mouths molding into grins.

"Oh, yes," Auguste laughed, patting his silver-speckled mare lightly on the nose before pulling himself up onto her saddle and perching upon her back. "lots of gold."

* * *

The streets were crowded and gray, the gross smell of an excess population rising from the very ground and clogging in the alleyways the boys navigated their way through. The littlest of the children had been left at the house with Antonio, who insisted it was vital one of the elders stay, just in case Arthur decided to come back; Francis and Gilbert, on the other hand, went in search of the young Englishman themselves.

"This is all your fault, Frenchie." The albino was grumbling unhappily as they slipped through a mob of people, pressing themselves against the alley walls as soon as they got the chance to assure themselves that it was still there. Gilbert was the least appeased by this whole incident, and was determined to blame Francis for the whole incident. "You must have done something to make him run away." He said blatantly, eyes glinting in-humorously like shattered glass. "He was with you the last."

Keeping his eyes glued on the ground, Francis shook his head and bit his lip sharply. "N-non, I d-didn't!" He stammered, thinking to himself that he sounded guilty, which annoyed him – he really hadn't _tried_ to make stupid Arthur upset! Sighing, he kicked at the dirt with the tips of his shoes, and then looked up to glance around him dully. "I don't see _how_ we're going to find him, anyways." He complained bitterly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and stopping abruptly at the end of the alleyway, gazing off into the center of town, where the merchants resided. "There's too many twists and turns...and too many people! He could be anywhere."

"Ah, keep moving." Gilbert grunted with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. He reached out his hand and shoved Francis forwards a bit, causing the other boy to stumble and almost fall to his knees. "If you keep whining like a little girl, we'll never find him, and by the time we do, he'll probably be a corpse."

Fury made Francis burst, and he whirred around onto the white-haired boy, jabbing an elegant finger at his face. "Stop _saying_ things like that!" He hollered, annoyance brewing inside the pit of his stomach and heat flustering his skin. "I never did a-anything to you, and you act as if you despise me!" Blonde hair fluttered in the wind, curving inwards towards Francis' face and seeming to reach out towards Gilbert as he spoke. This irritated him further, and he grasped onto the sides of his hair with both hands and pulled it backwards, wishing he had a hair-tie with him. Gilbert watched him with a monotonous expression the whole time, making Francis want to slap him across the face. "You're really an _ass_, you know that?" He hissed instead.

The monotonous look on Gilbert's face broke into an outraged one. "Hah! At least I don't look like a prepubescent girl!" He snickered, mouth spreading open into a wide grin, as he flashed his teeth at Francis snobbishly. "I'm more awesome than you ever will be, you rich, spoiled-brat!" Done letting his insults fly, Gilbert places his fists on either of his hips, laughter rumbling out of him and shaking his stomach lightly. Francis stared at the way his mouth moved when he laughed, so tauntingly and wickedly, and the way his eyes twinkled like dew-coated, ripe cherries. It made him sick to his stomach.

"Yeah..." Francis began, fighting for a good insult, although he couldn't think of anything witty at the moment. Instead, he did something he realized afterward he shouldn't have done: he insulted Gilbert where it _hurt_. "Oh yeah!" Francis snapped, face turning a shade of darker red, and hands balling into tight fists. "Well, I bet the fire that killed your parents...I bet _you_ started it...and god only let you survive so you could live every day with the remembrance towards the evil you committed!"

The laughter abruptly stopped.

Gilbert's whole body seemed to stiffen up in an odd way, and his teeth came crashing down upon his lower lip ferociously. The albino's face turned the same color as his eyes, but it was not with embarrassment, but rather, anger. Balling his hands into tight fists, he cast his gaze towards Francis' face dangerously. "How..._dare_ you." He half-choked, half-snarled, which _almost_ made Francis want to apologize. However, his feelings of remorse were soon diminished when Gilbert opened his mouth and practically screamed, "Go to hell!"

Feeling that it was, at least, a tiny bit his fault that this fight was started, Francis only stared at his toes. He didn't want to meet Gilbert's eyes, nor did he want to speak to the other boy anymore. _Why couldn't Antonio have come instead? _He wondered longingly, scuffling his shoes into the dirt and imagining that the earth he disturbed was actually Gilbert's stupid face. "You...started it." He sputtered finally, the words coming from his lips louder than he intended.

A great breath exited Gilbert's tense frame, and the child lunged forwards all of a sudden, shoving Francis forcefully, and sending him staggering backwards, almost to where he fell out of the alley and into the marketplace. "_You_ started it!" The albino snapped discontentedly. "You started it by coming here, by dressing the way you do and wearing your hair long! You started it by...by acting like a little whore in the alleyways, and tempting me with your sins!"

Shock washed over Francis' countenance; he was still regaining his balance from being pushed so harshly, but Gilbert's ever-harsh words hit him twice as hard. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, as if little bugs were crawling around inside of him and eating out his insides.

No joy was in Gilbert's expression as he continued – his mouth remained a straight, emotionless line, only twisting into looks of agony and fury every now and then – which seemed to prove, to Francis, that the things he said were things he truly thought. "You came out of nowhere, and invaded _my_ town, stole _my_ friend, and _ruined_ how I look in Antonio's eyes as well! I kissed you!" He ranted, waving his arms about in the air, then finally whipping his arm forwards and pointing accusingly at Francis' nose. "You...you're nothing but a fucking fag!" He snapped, saliva spraying out of his mouth and speckling Francis' face. "One day, you're going to _really_ go to hell!"

For the first time in his life that he could remember, Francis threw the first punch. He actually started a fight with another person, which was something he had _never_ imagined himself doing.

Before he knew what he was doing, some strange emotion took a hold of Francis' body, and his fist was bashing into Gilbert's nose. The shock of actually striking someone overcame the Frenchman for a second afterward, almost causing him to pause, but the realization that pausing would cause him to loose made him do the exact opposite. Instead, Francis hurled himself forwards and butted his head into Gilbert's chest, sending the both of them crashing to the ground in a flurry of dust and movement. Francis' hands clutched at Gilbert's arms next, pinning him onto the ground as he looked at nothing – gazing downwards, but in a way that suggested Gilbert was transparent to him at the moment- with a look of complete pain on his face. He didn't understand _why_ everyone kept calling him these thing...and why no one seemed to want to _accept _him.

Francis hadn't really thought about Gilbert's response to being stuck and tackled, but he knew once he was on top of the boy that he would not be able to fight anymore if Gilbert got up. Therefore, he held the latter down with all of his strength while he thrashed and cursed, spitting up at Francis, "Get off! Let me go you stupid asshole!" He howled, getting to the point where he was even attempting to bite Francis' hands. Eventually, Francis found he couldn't hold the white-haired boy, and Gilbert freed one of his arms, soon clutching Francis' wrist in his hands. "Damn it!" He snarled.

It was at that point that Francis sort of gave up, and allowed Gilbert to free his other hand, and push him roughly off of him and onto the dirt. Laying on his back, Francis stared up at Gilbert, glassy-eyed, as the bigger boy loomed over him with blood-lusting eyes. Heat rushed to Francis' cheeks and turned them tomato red. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, shame washing over him. _I hit someone, I hit someone... _He kept thinking. _And...it felt __**good**__. _

Icy fingers wound their way around Francis' thin neck, and he shut his eyes, expecting Gilbert to throttle him. He imagined that the boy easily could – it wasn't as if anyone cared for Francis here – and if Auguste ever _did_ learn of his son's demise, it would be next to impossible to know who did it. Francis pushed his own hands upwards and tried to pry Gilbert's away from his throat. "Leave me...alone." He growled half-heartedly, imagining Arthur discovering his corpse behind his closed eyelids.

"Why should I?!" Gilbert snapped in response, his grip tightening a bit. It felt as if the two sides of Francis' windpipe were going to touch each other, and the blonde-haired boy squeaked in pain, fearing what would happen if they did come into contact with one another. "You've insulted me beyond repentance..." Gilbert snarled, his hands loosening just the slightest bit, as if he wanted to hear what Francis' response would be.

Digging his fingernails into Gilbert's pallid white skin, Francis pried his hands away from his aching neck. Coughing, he glared up at Gilbert, who seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to strangle him again. "You did the same to me." Francis told him coldly, blue eyes glittering like the frozen surface of a lake. "You don't even know how many times you have."

"Hmf." Grunting, the albino trailed his blood-red eyes across the-boy-he-was-sitting-on's face, his paste-colored lips twitching between a straight line to a slight frown. Then, he sighed. "Fine." He heaved, slowly picking himself off Francis and rising to his feet. His hands were still balled into ready fists, and his back stiffened and ready, but he stood stock still.

Francis didn't really know what exactly he meant by 'fine', but he took it as a sign that their fight was over, and cautiously he clambered to his feet as well. A fine layer of gray dust coated his frame, and dirt was smudged on his normally clean, peach skin. He didn't say anything to his comrade when he was on his feet again, instead he chose to stare down at the disturbed earth beneath him. His downcast eyes held a strange, emotionless look to them, and his soft, light-yellow hair rustled around his face almost hauntingly. Without a word exchanged, the two started up their search for Arthur once more.

* * *

It was cold. Jeanne was in mud all the way up to her ankles, and brown-colored water all the way up to her knees. To top that off, the water got higher with each step she took, and yet she _knew_ that she must keep going. "Urgh...get off!" She cursed a slimy green plant that happened to wrap itself around her foot and hold her into place. It took her a few minutes of kicking and splashing around before she could finally shake the thing, and once she did, she was angry, and huffing for breath. "It's all _your_ fault!" She yelled to the air as she sluggishly moved through the slowly-flowing part of the river current. She had decided it would be smart to cross the river on the way to the second town, just in case the priest had sent anyone after her. She didn't doubt he meant to have her killed now, especially now that he knew she was alive, and he likely told Auguste Bonnefoy to execute her too, if he got the chance. _Stupid pet. _She inwardly growled at the noble. _Stupid Francis' p__è__re._

Water splashed up against her waist and seeped through her clothing, chilling her stomach and making her grimace. Her brother had told her to bring extra provisions, just in case something happened, and she _did_ have a small sack of bread and cheese over her shoulder. However, she had never through to bring anything like an extra change of clothes, and her brother surely wouldn't have thought of it either. He hadn't ventured out of their makeshift home in the forest ever since the incident with the green-robed priest.

As Jeanne reached the center of the river, and balanced herself carefully with each further step she took, she couldn't help but wish her brother would have come with her. She missed his presence at times, and it irked her sometimes that she always had to play the thief. Sure, every once in a while she would venture home and find him with a loaf of bread, or slab of butter, but she didn't know where he got them. For all she knew, he could have made it himself, somehow. It wouldn't surprise her. In the end, though...everything went back to that damned priest. _I thought I had forgotten. I thought all of that had happened in a different town... _The girl thought dully, her clothing making squelching noises and feeling heavy as she emerged on the other side of the river bank. _But I was wrong... _

Jeanne had only been a child when the incident had occurred – a very young child at that – and it was difficult for her to remember it in full now. Although it was fuzzy _exactly_ what had happened, she knew the general lift of it. Her brother refused to speak about it.

The Darc family had, somehow, learned of some corruption within the holy walls of the very church they attended. It started out with Jeanne's brother – he was the first to know – and after receiving the knowledge he did, he soon spread it to his mother and father. Jeanne remembered her parents yelling at him to begin with, and then, late at night, talking to each other in hushed, concerned voices. After a while, they too began to believe the corruption within the church...and, perhaps, they too obtained evidence of it.

It was a cloudy and gray day when they went down to the church to confront the green-robed priest. Jeanne walked at her mother's side and clutched her hand tightly, while her brother walked behind the lot of them with his head down. Her father and mother were talking the whole time, and her father was saying, unhappily, something about the priest likely already knowing that they _knew. _Jeanne's mother had said something hinting that maybe the priest would pay them money to keep them quieted, and then her father had responded with something in the negative. It reminded Jeanne of what she had heard the green-robed priest say the most recent time she had come into contact with him - "Sometimes it takes more than gold to pay a man" - but that didn't _exactly _fit into the situation so she didn't know for sure.

As they had neared the front steps, Jeanne's brother had snatched her by the back of her dress, and pulled her away from her mother. His eyes had glinted like sharp stones upturned in a river, and he told her. "Go back home and wait for us." Since her parents didn't seem to object, and they were hardly paying attention to her anyways, Jeanne had no choice to obey. She walked home.

Hours passed, and the clouds swirled about in the sky. The sun set and the moon rose up, basking the town in a silvery glow. Jeanne sat by the window, eagerly awaiting her family's return. Eventually, she fell asleep with her cheek pressed up against the smooth pane, and her eyelids closed tightly. She was graced by a nice dream about kittens whenever her brother awoke her. She wasn't sure what time it was then, but he had looked scared, and there was something...different about him. "Come on." He told her blankly, "We're finding a new home." and then he took her softly by the hand, and led her away into the forest.

It still wasn't clear to Jeanne _how_ her brother knew of the abandoned, run down home that was placed in the middle of the wilderness, far away from civilization's eye. If she thought about it now, he had probably been there before, but _why_ he had was a troubling question. She found nowadays that she didn't really care – it was her home now – and she didn't _want _to know. There were lots of things Jeanne preferred not to know, and Francis' dark secret was one thing she didn't care to have lingering in her mind.

As she came back into reality, Jeanne let herself shudder. _It was never clear to me exactly what happened to my parents. _Jeanne sighed absentmindedly as she trudged through the forest, leaves and mud sticking to her clothes. It was hard to move, and she was beginning to regret wading through the river. If the priest had hounds, he could find her anyways. _Brother used to say that we all knew something...something about what the priest was doing, that society wouldn't like, and because of this, the priest had to dispose of us. _The trees seemed to sway in towards her tauntingly, as if listening to her thoughts. _On that night, brother said to me, 'He took our parents away.' _The sun blazed overhead, and the leaves glimmered a bright, almost neon green above her. _He said, 'I am the evidence of what we know he did...and you are the evidence of me.'_

"Hmf." Jeanne paused as she sighted smoke in the air up ahead. It was the definite sign that she was near a town. Placing her hands on her hips, the filthy girl tried wipe some of the clingy muck from her clothes. "This world is stupid." She said aloud, glum. "The only thing driving people is greed and selfishness." As soon as she said that, her mind wondered: _Then why am I risking myself for Francis? _She pondered being the only un-selfish human being for a moment, and then decided better of it. _I just miss his company. _She decided, and then she continued her walk towards town.

* * *

**Ah, I'm glad I was finally able to update this, though it's not as long as I would like it to be. Still, I think it came out okay, and I hope it's acceptable to you guys. Of the things I would like to explain, I used the word "Darc" for Jeanne's last name because I read that, during the actual time Jeanne d'Arc lived, the French language didn't have apostrophes. Therefore, this - ' was nonexistent. To top that off, Jeanne d'Arc wasn't even from a town called Arc. I did research. You can too. **

**Also, this person drew me fanart. I was so enthralled~. zozoem . deviantart #/d5b3th1 Just remove the spaces. **

**I'm getting close to being able to introduce a new character! *Squeals* I actually wanted to in this chapter, but I didn't have the time to fit it in, and, it just wouldn't FIT IN to the story because of how I ended it...but it will come eventually.  
**

**Anyhow, thank you ever-so-much for reading, and I will update again whenever I have the time, and my life isn't consume by school!  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**Dormez-Vous chapter 12**

The weather was beginning to get chilly as the sun descended in the great gray abyss of the sky, but Arthur didn't mind too much. He liked the cold, it was like a calming, relaxing hand that covered your skin from all angles. It had been a few hours, he supposed, since he ran away from Francis and his group of insolent friends, and the small, pudgy boy was finally beginning to calm down. It still irked him that the Frenchman wouldn't tell him about his actual problems though. _Why should I care, anyways? _He asked himself bitterly. _The frog's no problem of mine. _Still, the memory of Francis' innocent smile, outstretched hand, and his willingness to leave his comfortable life for a peasant made Arthur feel strangely warm inside.

"Watch it, short-stack." A gray-faced man muttered, shoving Arthur aside with an unopened bottle of rum. The boy almost fell upon his rump, but was able to regain his momentum at the last second and stay on his feet.

The sights and smells of the busy town were beginning to get old, gross even, and the people were all rude and smelly. _I think I'll go to the woods and take a break from all of this hectic bustling. _Arthur told himself, scratching at a bug that had lodged itself behind his ear. It stayed there for a moment determinedly before finally flying off. _I'll go back to Francis after I calm down... _

With lithe step and hop, Arthur made his way through the bumbling drunkards and the swaying whores of town, ducking between the legs of merchants, and upsetting stray cats. His feet plunged into icy mud-water that lay in the gutters of the street beneath the windows of people, emitting a foul-smelling stench, and putrid colors, swirling together. When he finally reached the outskirts of town, and sighted the woods, he took a deep breath.

The trees danced in the soft breeze, inching their long, thin branches out to him and beckoning him forth. _Arthur...Arthur... _They seemed to be calling out to him, one of their soft green leaves snapping off a stem and fluttering to him, landing at his feet. _Where have you been, Arthur? This is where you belong._ The bushes bobbed their heads in agreement, flashing ripe, blue berries, as if to tempt the child.

A big smile spread across his face, and Arthur, who found it quite normal to talk to inanimate (or invisible) things, loudly exclaimed, "Oh, I've missed you guys too!" and sprang forwards, going to the nearest tree and giving it a hug like it was a real human being. It had no warmth, no brain, no voice, but it still felt, he was sure of it. It's bark had texture, each was different from another, it was naked in winter, and clothed in summer, and, most convincing of all, it bled. Arthur was always careful not to snap twigs off of healthy, living trees. He hated to watch the sticky, sorrowful sap slowly slide out of it; the tree was surely silently screaming.

After saying a word of greeting to all the trees and plants in the surrounding area, Arthur stretched out his back and wandered up to one of the berry bushes, squatting on his knees in front of it. "And you, Mister Berry-Bush, you have prepared a sweet little meal, just for me." Laughing, he reached out and plucked some of the soft, delicate fruit, juices oozing slightly out of his tiny fingers and staining his skin. "I love you all so much." He said softly. "I could never leave you."

It happened just then that the bushes began to rustle, and Arthur was overcome with a fantasy, staring wide-eyed, slack-jawed at them. What if the forest loved him so much, it was overcome by adoration, and sprouted forth to him an alluring nymph or faerie for him to spend the rest of his life with? He balled his fists up until the knuckles were white. He really hoped so.

"Urghhh..." Instead of a beautiful mythological girl, a horrid-looking, skinny creature covered in mud burst from the bushes. It looked halfway human, with cold cerulean eyes, and a thin, elegant face, but its body was just so _filthy_...

Arthur screamed. "M-m-monster!" He yowled at the top of his little lungs, turning to flee and falling flat on his face, crushing his nose. His legs still squirmed desperately in the air, as if he could continue running whilst face down, and his hands started pawing the earth to drag him along. "Help me, somebody, help me!" He squealed as a thin, muddy foot came down between his shoulder blades and held him in place. Now tears decked the corners of his emerald eyes. "P-please d-don't e-eat me..." He whined.

A laugh came from above, and the foot was lifted. "Boy, don't you remember me?" The voice asked merrily, yet with a slightly urgent undertone to it. Arthur looked back, noticing the shape of the person's face _was _rather familiar. "I'm Jeanne, Francis' friend. I also borrow food from your garden." She told him with a prideful grin; he didn't get why she was smiling at being good at _thievery _but he left it well alone. "Anyways, I have come to get Francis," She went on to explain. "because he is in danger. I'm not sure exactly how, but I'm positive he is..."

Making a face at her, Arthur brushed himself off and rose to his feet. The little green cape his mother had made him was now dirty, and it irritated him so he ground his teeth together. _If it stains, I'll kill you._ He told Jeanne in his mind. "You're just crazy." He spat out in reality. "Francis is not in danger. He's fine. We have...a nice house in town now, with servants and all, and you're not invited!" Somehow, he just couldn't pass up the opportunity of trying to make her jealous.

It didn't work, for she obviously didn't believe him, snorting out of her flared, pink nostrils and running her fingers through her filthy sand-colored hair. "Yeah, sure," Rolling her eyes at him, she pushed him aside. "I bet he just gave up on you, being the little runt you are." She chuckled snidely, a twinkle in her eye as she strode passed him.

Cheeks blazing an indignant color of red, Arthur shook his head. "NO! NUH-UH!" He sputtered, grabbing onto a ragged sack that she had over her shoulder, and yanking it. Old bread and cheese spilled out onto the forest floor. "I-I left because he was annoying!" He yowled.

Whirling around, Jeanne smacked his head. It was obvious she didn't mean to put any force into the blow, but still it sent Arthur careening onto his butt. "Knock it off, you'll ruin my food!" She scolded, bending down to pick up her provisions, and replacing them in her sack. "I thought maybe if I pissed you off you'd tell me where he is, but you seem to know nothing, so you're no use to me. Leave me alone so I can find the boy and save him, since you seem incapable of doing so."

Arthur's bushy eyebrows descended low on his scowling face, and he stood up. "Hah...y-yeah...well, he likes me better than you." He retorted to the thief-girl's turned back. She paused for a moment, but didn't stop walking. "I bet you only want to 'save him' because you have a crush on him." This time, Jeanne completely stopped in her tracks.

Surprisingly, there was no ice in her gaze when she tipped her head over her shoulder to gaze at Arthur; no malice or anger contaminated her features at all. Instead, her cerulean eyes glistened, perfectly serene, and her pink lips stayed a straight line. "Non," she said softly, so quiet it was almost inaudible. "the reason I want to save him, is because he's a good person...even if people choose to not think so." Seeing the confusion in Arthur's eyes, she moved back, clasping his hand in hers, and started walking him into town. "You're too little to understand, but people are going to wrongfully despise Francis for the rest of his life, especially if..." She trailed off, then sighed. "It's not my place to say, and anyhow, we have bigger matters to deal with now."

A chill shot up Arthur's spine, causing him to shudder from his head all the way to his lower back, but he nodded his head. "Ah..." He murmured, wordless, struggling for an appropriate response. "I see."

"I'm hungry." Gilbert sighed loudly, his face so close to Francis' ear that the other boy could feel his hot breath crawling across his skin. "Can we stop the search for just a little bit, to get something to eat?" The albino swayed on his feet dramatically, moaning and clutching his stomach. Ever since he and Francis had fought out their differences, he seemed much more content with being around the Frenchman.

Sighing, Francis pushed Gilbert's face away. "Non, je vais trouver Arthur." He muttered, not paying attention, and speaking French. "We can eat later." He said, continuing to stroll down a dark and empty alleyway, not a soul in sight ahead of him. A low rumble bubbled inside his abdomen, and he hoped Gilbert didn't hear it. There was no way he could avoid _not_ eating if the loud-mouthed, annoying boy caught ear of his stomach growling.

Kicking an abandoned glass bottle, and stuffing his hands into his pockets, Gilbert begrudgingly made his way along behind Francis. "Don't you think we would have found him by now, if he was here?" He asked pointedly, giving Francis a look of equal annoyance, both eyebrows raised above his blood-drop eyes. "Maybe he went back to the house." He went on, sticking a foot out in front of Francis so he couldn't progress any further. "Maybe Antonio found him."

Francis hopped over his foot angrily and started pacing faster. "And maybe he didn't! Maybe he's walled up in some horrid hotel, surrounded by violent men!" The thought brought tears to his eyes, though they did not streak his skin. Arthur was so innocent! If anything bad happened to him, Francis could only blame himself... Gilbert said something again then, although Francis didn't hear, and stuck out his foot once more. Not paying attention this time, Francis tripped and fell, catching himself just in times so he was merely on his knees in the dust.

"Ah! I thought you saw it..." Gilbert whined in apology, grabbing Francis' shoulders and pulling him back to his feet. "Stupid Frenchman..." He laughed softly, nudging Francis' shoulder an an attempted uplifting way. It didn't work and Francis resumed staring at the ground, a shadow on his face. "The world isn't _just_ full of violent, abusive men, you know." The albino said sadly, putting his arm around the other and dangling his white-skinned fingers over his shoulder. "Just think, one day we'll be grown-ups! We won't be cruel, right? So you have to trust some of this generation too-"

"_NON_!" Francis snapped, cutting him off. "You know nothing of this world, _Gilbert!_ The world is full of hatred, and every man has a heart full of shadows!" Furiously, he jerked away from Gilbert's comforting arm, then gripped his shirt and slammed him into the alleyway wall with all the force of his anger. "If we _choose_ not to become like the ones we see now, we'll never reach adulthood! We'll die! Worthless, kind people never make it, they always die!" The worlds flew from his gullet like a dragon spitting fire, and, seeming shocked at his own words, he quickly backed away and bowed his head.

For a moment, an awkward silence fell between the two. Gilbert stared at Francis as if he was the absurdest creature on the planet, and scratched at himself in an unsure way. "Francis. You are the weirdest little boy..." He grumbled, then grabbed the Frenchman ungently by the hand and began tugging him back the way they had come. "We're going back to our house. You need food, rest, and maybe Arthur will be there. If not, we can look tomorrow morning."

Letting out a small screech of protest, Francis tried to squirm out of his grip; there was barely any fight left in him, and soon he gave in. "No..." He whimpered softly, tears melting on his face like snow. "No, he won't be there...I know he won't be there...he wont be there..." He continued muttering, body twitching in weird ways due to his upset quivering.

Gilbert turned around and slapped him across the face. "Shut up." He spat, kicking dust up with his shoe and getting it all over the soft blue tunic Francis wore. "Make another sound, and I'll tell the world what you are." He growled, and when Francis opened his mouth for protest, the albino cut him off. "It's only too obvious. You're appearance is _all _the evidence I'll need."

The Frenchman, not knowing what to do, simply stood there and stared, jaw clenching and eyes turning into furious circles of ice. Gilbert laughed at him, and grabbed his chin, pulling his face so they were close to one another, and breathing onto his face. "_Faggot_." He hissed. Francis stood there and took it.

Entering town, Auguste and his men looked around themselves, surveying the place. Auguste was obviously disgusted by its conditions, but the other men seemed completely at home, joking around and whistling at passing by women. It really irked him. "Will you imbeciles kindly _shut up_ and do your job?" He asked unhappily, grinding his teeth. "Look for my son! Or the devil he's been hanging around with!"

The mouthy mercenary, who just had to be the lucky one blessed with horrific yellow teeth, soon began to chuckle, "Your boy's been hanging out with another boy. Boss said he has big eyebrows, but he's little, and pudgy." Cackling, he pulled a skin from the satchel on his old, withered horse, and took a swig of whatever was inside it, presumably alcohol. "Don't you think it's suspicious your boy ran off with another _boy_?" He inquired, soft brown eyes sliding over to peer at Auguste.

Aghast, because there was no possible way Francis would ever love anyone except himself, Auguste promptly drew a little dagger from his belt, and pointed it in the mans face. "Hold your filthy, tea-drinking tongue." He growled. "Or I'll cut it off, and feed it to your horse." He noticed the arrogance on the man he was threatening's face, and quickly pushed his dagger back into place. "You'll get no gold either." He added, and the arrogance disappeared.

They rode their horses slowly, making a trip around the whole outside of the town before they planned on going in. They saw nothing interesting, besides an occasional funny drunk, or two lovers doing what lovers do behind buildings and wide trees. The town in itself seemed gloomy, and gray, uninviting; it looked just like it needed some action to brighten it up, something to make it famous for. _Ah! I have it...the sinning girl! _A small smile crept across his face, and contentment filled up his insides. _If I can find her, I can become a hero among this town...for I'm sure she fled to find my boy, to save him from me. She knows something... _Frustrated once again, he yanked at his horse's ear. It was a bad idea because it turned its head back and nipped his leg. "GOD DAMN IT HORSE!" Auguste began cursing up a storm, hardly noticing when one of his men – the pot-bellied one – spoke up.

"Ah, sir," he said, softly, almost timidly, belly jiggling up and down with each trot his horse took. "I'm not sure, but is that perhaps the boy your son went with...? His eye brows..."

Head snapping up, Auguste snapped, "Where?!" and quickly looked in the direction the mercenary was pointing. Sure enough, strolling into town, was Arthur Kirkland. He was a little dirty, but nonetheless a Kirkland. Auguste was sure. He could tell a Kirkland from five miles away. _And who is that with him, but our little heathen herself? _A smirk crossed his face, but he forced it into a straight line, business-like. "Follow them." He commanded.

**Forgive me for taking so long on updating this guys. I really haven't been updating anything at _all _since school started, because we get so much homework that I am kept up until 11:30 on most occasions, and when I do have free time, I'm really tired. Today was even a weekend, and I _just_ finished all my weekend homework, and I did not procrastinate. **

**But, in addition to my excuse, I have another excuse. My wife. It's all her fault for infatuating me and keeping me distracted from my writing with steamy roleplays and loving fantasies~. Love keeps you so busy, my friends. VuV Especially when the person is almost so alike to you, you feel your soul is intertwined... Oh! But don't tell anyone~. **

**Furthermore, I'm on a medication now, to keep myself from having continuous pain in essentially all the organs of my abdomen, and it's been working a lot, so as long as I'm not tired, I'm going to try and write more often now. (I also went through a teeny stage of depression, but my fiance brought me out of that, as well as teaching me how to cry~.) Keep in mind though, I have three stories I am currently working on, so it's not like I can update Dormez-Vous every week (though you've waited enough, forgive me). I'll probably update every 2-3 weeks, alternating between Dormez-Vous, The Flower Shop of Insomnia, and Coriander and Feverfew. Luckily the latter is almost finished, so soon it will only be the first two I'm worried with. **

**ALSO. Dormez-Vous is likely going to be split into parts, and guess what~? Part one is almost over~! **

**Sorry for such a long AN... Well, au revoir! 3**


	13. Chapter 13

**Dormez-Vous?**

Chapter 13

As Jeanne and Arthur padded along the peeling dirt road,each step pulling away another layer of gray-brown dust, Arthur couldn't help but feeling that he was being watched. It was a strange feeling, and he couldn't determine why it bothered him so much and made his hair stand stiff like arrows, but he felt that perhaps the person watching was doing so in a threatening way. Bandits, maybe? He looked around himself, but the only living thing he saw was a scrawny black cat digging up food from the gutters. Still, the feelings persisted.

"So, where is the nice house you told me of, that Francis and you supposedly live in?" Jeanne's voice swept over Arthur's sense, draining away his overly-cautious feelings from before. She sounded sarcastic and there was a glint to her eyes, as well as twitching muscles, tugging at the corners of her mouth wickedly. "This area of town doesn't seem very nice at all."

Glancing aside, the young Englishman merely shrugged his shoulders, nostrils flaring with his indignation. "I don't know. Just be quiet until we get there." He muttered, and tromped off ahead of her upon his pudgy legs. He stepped on his worn green cape in his tantrum-like movements and almost tripped and fell flat on his face, causing him to turn a bright red and walk even faster. He _knew_ that Jeanne was snickering behind him.

"Do you think your family has been worried about you?" A pebble flew at the back of Arthur's head, bonking him and then retaliating and landing on the ground. "Do you think they're out looking for you?" Jeanne seemed to just be rephrasing the same question over and over again.

Letting out a sigh, Arthur stopped in his tracks and leaned one small hand against the gray, crumbling alley wall. His green eyes stared distantly ahead and flashed like dying campfires, and for a moment a forlorn aura seemed to overtake him and the area around him. "They hate me." He stated simply, and did not move a muscle, as if to do so would somehow be fatal. His legs quivered ever-so-slightly and he bit his lip as he recalled all the horrid things his siblings had done to him. They had never cared a smidgen for him – maybe Dylan, but that was all – and had only always hurt him and pushed him away. To them, he was the outcast. To Allister...he must be an abomination.

Instead of arguing like many previous people Arthur had said this to tended to do, Jeanne merely made a quiet noise of sadness, and breathed, "Oh." Soft footsteps sounded after a minute, and she slowly made her way over to the boy, ad laid her thin but calloused hand upon his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Arthur." She murmured into his ear, words tickling and warming it all at once.

Swatting her hand away, Arthur resumed his journey back towards the house. Absentmindedly, he hoped that they wouldn't be mad at him for running away. He hoped no one would treat him like Allister, and hit him for it, or like Eily, and scold him until he were deaf. Those kinds of things made him feel absolutely irked to his limit.

"Hey, you know, Francis likes you a lot." Jeanne spouted out of the blue, causing Arthur to spin around furiously. She had a huge grin stuck to her porcelain face and her childishly crooked teeth were glowing like many tiny white moons. "Do you like him back?" Laughing, she slapped him between the shoulders. "You look as red as a cherry!" She squealed after a moment after she inquired the former.

Indeed, Arthur's face was bright red, and he could feel the wretched heating oozing out of his skin in waves. It embarrassed him quite a bit, and he bit his tongue slightly and sucked in his cheeks, as if that would help it dissipate somehow. "A-Are you kidding me? I hate that frog!" Rolling his eyes, he promptly kicked a shoe-full of dirt up at her, then spun around and ran. "In fact, I hate you too! I think all French people are smelly dolts!"

Squealing with surprise, Jeanne hastily wiped the dirt from her ragged clothes and smudged face, but seeing as she was already filthy she soon gave up and smirked like a sly fox instead. Drawing her wooden sword that she always carried, she pointed it straight up into the air and announced: "Then I shall slay you!" before bounding after the little Englishman at full-force.

Arthur screamed – knowing fully well that she wouldn't really kill him, but still a bit frightened of being beaten with the object – and sprinted as fast as he could go. He zipped around corners and splashed mud up onto his trousers and boots, almost falling at least three times. He did not even notice when he ran into the little clearing in front of the old, abandoned house that he and Francis had been residing in. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He demanded, picking a stick up from the ground and raising it into the air. Instead of swinging it like Jeanne had her sword, he twirled it about as if it were a magic want. "Come at me!" He stuck out his tongue to taunt his opponent.

However, Jeanne was not paying much attention. Instead, she was staring past Arthur with a shocked look on her face. Her chapped lips were drawn into a tiny upside-down "D" shape, and her body went still and unmoving.

"What? What is the problem...?" Arthur dropped the stick-wand, suddenly feeling intimated and wondering if something awful was standing behind him, ready to attack him. He did not move a muscle.

Jeanne slowly smiled once again.

"Arthur! I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!" A familiar voice piped, and thin, white arms were promptly wound about the young boy's waist. He squealed with surprise as those arms tightened their grip to that of a vice, and suddenly his body was above the ground.

Wriggling around with all his might, he growled, "Put me down this instant! Let me go! Imbecile!" and tried to bite his attacker. Jeanne, instead of aiding him, was leaning against her wooden sword from a distance and laughing merrily, as if this was something that was okay – some stranger harassing poor Arthur. He just knew French people were untrustworthy.

After much squeezing and cooing, the assailant finally dropped Arthur down, and the latter spun around to face him. It was Francis Bonnefoy, eyes sharp blue and loving, and rosebud lips a perfect smile. There were little sparkles of wetness in the corners of his eyes, and Arthur feared he was crying, but as he looked closer, there seemed to be nothing there. "...oh. You. Hello." The Brit wasn't quite sure what so say, and he felt abashed, nonetheless, that he didn't recognize his friend's voice right away. Thus he started troubling himself over what an awful person he must be, not to recognize his friends, and with a sad little noise he cast his emerald eyes towards his shoes and the ground, and hid them beneath thickened eyebrows.

"What? Are you not happy to see me?" Francis inquired with a disappointed tone to his voice, but at the same time, he seemed to be expecting this.

Gilbert, who was straying but Francis' side – and had a bruise on his face – decided that this would be the perfect moment to pop his own opinion in. "Of _course_ he does not want to see _you_, Fracine."He groaned and rolled his ruby-red eyes back into his head. His fingers sought a little cross on his neck that dangled there from a tattered string, and he stroked the old thing listlessly. "He ran away because of you."

"I didn't-." Arthur began, but was cut off by the door to the abandoned house flying open, and a bombardment of children rushing out in a deadly wave.

"Francis! You found him! Bien, bien!" Antonio chirped, rushing over with Lovino close by his side. Feliciano was padding alongside Ludwig, whom went straight to Arthur and gave him a death-glare, followed by a hug. The Italian boy joined in as well and soon Arthur was squished. Antonio made his way to Francis, however. "Ah, who is that young girl over there, though?" He asked, and a darkness suddenly overtook his countenance. The same happened to Gilbert all at once.

Arthur watched Francis look away, and then give Arthur a little glance as he said. "That is one of my close friends. Her name is Jeanne." His plastic smile never faltered, and before anyone could say anything anymore, he sprang forwards and ran to his old comrade, hugging her with all his force and kissing her cheeks. "Jeanne! I haven't seen you in so long! Come meet my friends!" He said, and let go of the girl's body, bounding back towards where he came.

Looking quite enthralled that Francis had invited her, Jeanne hurriedly nodded and began to follow. She went much slower, however, with a shyness to her step, and an uncertainty as well. "H-Hello, I am-."

She did not get to finish, as suddenly a parade of horses burst into the clearing and she was wrenched up by the arm by a noble looking man with ice-cold eyes and a horrifically angry expression. Arthur recognized him at once:

Francis' father.

* * *

**AN: Hey, everyone, I finally wrote another chapter! Sorry for the wait. I wont give you a long excuse, but to spare the details, again, I am not mentally well. Fortunately I am working on a solution to fixing that!**

**I know this probably is a bit rusty, so please forgive the writing, but I promise I will be reading and writing a lot this summer (even if it's not uploaded to FF) so I can improve!**

**I decided that this "book" is going to be 15 chapters. The second half of it is going to be titled something else, and it too will have 15 chapters hopefully. Anyways, in addition, I have come to the conclusion that I like switching characters POVs every chapter, not a million times per chapter if it's not necessary So, thus, I'll be doing that more. :)**

**Reviews are appreciated, but I love to talk to anyone just for fun as well~! Au revoir!**


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